


Aperture Café

by actingwithportals



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, Gen, Multi, Portal AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actingwithportals/pseuds/actingwithportals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wonderful characters of Portal, Portal 2, and Portal Stories: Mel in a happy alternate universe where Aperture is, instead of a dangerous science facility, a well-to-do coffeehouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

“Uh… are you really sure about this, miss?”  
The world outside was still dark, and the air held a certain chill that made anyone who happened to be awake at this hour walk a little faster than would be considered normal pace. On the corner of 5th and Main stood a warm haven to those unlucky enough to have no other choice but brave the cold world outside. An old brick building with large black-framed windows, pouring out cozy yellow light and inviting pedestrians inside.   
Aperture Café, a humble coffeehouse in the middle of a big city with the express purpose of bringing their customers only the biggest and best coffeehouses have to offer. Whether it is a brew the likes of which has never been tasted before, or customer service so enthralling it leaves even the most skeptical consumers coming back for more. This is where people come for their early morning wakeup calls, their lunchtime free time, their afternoon cups of tea, and their late night pick-me-ups. Be it coffee, tea, pastries, sandwiches, alcohol, a quiet place to read, or an atmosphere suited for social pleasure, Aperture Café does it best.  
The woman at the counter, however, could care less about the extravagance of the Café’s mission. It was a quarter till six on a Monday morning, and the only thing she had in her sights was the next cup of caffeinated fuel.  
Chell held out her hand to the man behind the counter, swiping her fingers impatiently. She had numerous engagements and interviews throughout the next eight hours and she was not going to be denied the one thing that would keep her sane during this ordeal.  
“Miss, you’ve had three cups already…” The barista was on the shorter side, with a mop of messy brown hair hastily tied back into a ponytail for convenience and cleanliness. He eyed Chell worriedly with his warm, concerned eyes that were the color of melted butterscotch.   
Another mild glare, another impatient swipe with her hand.  
The barista sighed, finally relenting. “You’re going to die, lady.”  
Chell smirked. She wouldn’t go down so easily.  
“That will be yet another Americano, Leo,” the barista, whom Chell had learned only a week ago was named Virgil, called over his shoulder to his young coworker, an excitable college age kid with short golden locks and a grin that never seemed to wane.   
“Americano number four. So much caffeine. Too much caffeine. Lady is going to die,” Leo muttered to himself, almost tripping over his own words in his eagerness to get them out.   
“Long day ahead of you, eh?” Virgil asked, crossing his arms over the counter and slightly leaning forward. He had a strange accent that was both smooth and choppy, and if Chell had ever bothered to ask would have come to find was of Norwegian origin.   
Chell nodded, sticking two fingers against the side of her temple and making a motion like she was shooting herself.  
“That bad, huh?” Virgil gave her a sympathetic look. Leo came up to the counter and slid the glass over to Chell, sloshing out some of the contents on its way.  
“Oi! What did I say about doing that?” Virgil snapped at the young barista, whipping the clean white rag off his shoulder and beginning to clean up the mess and dry off Chell’s glass. “If you’re going to show off to customers you need to be able to pull through with it.”  
“Yes sir, Mr. Mean Eye!” Leo said with misplaced optimism, saluting in an over-exaggerated fashion.   
“Get back to your spot,” Virgil ordered, waving his hand at the kid dismissively. “Sorry about that,” he said to Chell, wiping up the last of the spilled drink.  
Chell picked up her glass and downed the contents in one go, slamming it back down and wiping her face with her arm.   
“Yep, you’re going to die.”  
Chell got up from the counter, collected her bag and her coat, and headed over to the register to pay her dues. The man behind the register was unreasonably tall, with awkward square glasses that magnified his already large blue eyes.   
“Oh, hello! Ready to pay now, yes? I believe you had four of that expresso drink, right? Quite a lot, isn’t it? N-not that that’s a bad thing! Not at all! I’m sure you have very good reasons for drinking so much caffeine so early in the morning. A very, very good reason. One that does not involve dying from caffeine poisoning. Which is a thing! Trust me, I read about it in an article online, says you can indeed die from drinking too much caffeine. But I’m sure you’ll be fine, with your determined, uh… ness. Or at least that’s how you always look, not that I would know, I don’t know you at all, other than that you come in here every day and drink ungodly amounts of caffeine and never bother to even say hello…. Oh right, you’re trying to pay, sorry.”  
Chell had been holding out her small wad of cash for several moments now, occasionally shoving it a little closer to the employee’s face to try and get his attention. She had already gotten used to his ridiculous amounts of speech, and was pleasantly surprised that morning to barely hear a peep out of him during her usual half-hour stay in the Café. Of course that couldn’t be expected to last and he seemed to mean to make up for his lack of interaction now when she was ready to head out the door.   
The employee, whom Chell had learned was named Wheatley on the first day she stepped into this coffeehouse when he insisted on making introductions instead of quietly taking her payment, clumsily pressed buttons on the register and, after more seconds than necessary, finally got it open and retrieved Chell’s correct amount of change.  
“Here you go, love,” he said, handing her a few dollar bills and some coins. “I suppose I’ll see you later today when you come back after whatever it is you do? Unless you decide to go somewhere else today, or just go straight on home. Or just step in and step out without buying anything, Which is loitering and I’m told is illegal, but I’m sure we’ll let you off the hook if you don’t feel like actually getting anything. Or if you just feel like not having to bother with talking to us. Not that you ever talk with us in the first place… But! But if you do decide to say anything—oof!”  
Virgil shoved an elbow into Wheatley’s side, getting him to finally shut up. Chell had already started backing away to the door, but couldn’t bring herself to actually turn around and walk out, completely cutting him off. She gave Virgil a small smile of thanks and a nod and was out the door.  
“Do you ever know when to quit?” Virgil asked, giving Wheatley and exasperated look. “You know if you keep going on like that you’re just going to scare her away, and that’s bad for our business.”  
“I am being pleasant and sociable,” Wheatley argued. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”  
“Pleasant and sociable, not obnoxious and overbearing!” Virgil corrected. The Café was empty save for the three behind the counter, and Virgil allowed himself to sound a little harsher than he would in the presence of customers. He sighed, calming himself down a little. “Please try harder to separate your personal interests from your professional duties, okay?”  
“What personal interests?” Wheatley questioned, making a point to now look anywhere but down at his superior. “I have zero personal interests here. None. Zilch. Nada. Only professional duties here. I am positively overflowing with professional duties and not at all any personal interests whatsoever.”  
“He’s lying,” Leo piped up, discretely making himself a flat white in the corner of his workspace. “He thinks she’s pretty and gets all red in the face whenever she comes inside and talks more than usual, which is a lot, whenever she comes up to the register.”  
“I-that is not true, that is a lie!” Wheatley countered, his cheeks turning pink. “She’s not even that pretty! She’s boring; with boring soft brown hair that’s always tied back so neatly, and cold silver eyes that sparkle even when they’re glaring at me, and, you know, her smile is the worst of all! It’s all red and delicate and usually sarcastic and never actually directed at me…”  
“See?” Leo pointed out.  
“Hey, what are you doing over there?” Virgil asked, his attention moved to where Leo was working.  
“Practicing…” Leo said, his voice suddenly very small.   
“Practicing what, exactly?” Virgil asked, looking over Leo’s shoulder.  
“Latte art,” he answered quickly.  
“You don’t make latte art on a flat white, it’s not even a latte!” Virgil snapped, snatching the drink out of Leo’s hands. “How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t get free drinks!”  
“I was going to pay for it!” Leo whined, reaching for the cup. Virgil stepped back, countering his movements.  
“Uh-huh, just like you paid for all the other ones?” Virgil said, narrowing his eyes.  
“I’ve paid for every single drink I have ever made myself, isn’t that right?” Leo asked, turning to Wheatley and giving him a pleading look.  
“I’m staying out of this one,” Wheatley said, raising his hands and backing away, wanting no part in Virgil’s wrath.  
“Steal any more drinks and I’ll have to tell her about it, do you understand?” Virgil said, his voice taking on a very serious tone at the mention of their manager.  
Leo shrank back, nodding his head up and down very quickly.  
“Good,” Virgil said, taking a large swig of the hot drink, sighing contentedly. “Hm, not bad at all.”   
Virgil turned his attention back to Wheatley, taking another sip of the drink. “Listen,” he said, sounding very much like a grandfather about to give an unruly grandchild some well intended advice. “I understand you’ve got a thing for the young miss, but if you keep going at it one hundred miles per hour like that you’re going to scare her away, and I don’t just mean away from the Café. You’ve got to impress her, give her something about you to like and find endearing and want to come back. Does that make sense?”  
“Not even in the slightest,” Wheatley admitted, shaking his head.   
Virgil sighed. “Alright, then at least start with this: talk less. Quiet ladies like that don’t want to drown in never-ending monologues. Say hello, do your job, and say ‘have a nice day’, and let that be it.”  
“That sounds very unfriendly to me,” Wheatley countered. “Where’s the endearment in treating her like every other customer? Come in, say hello, take her money, say farewell, without even asking how her day went? That just—that just sounds rude. Unpleasant. Boring.”  
“It’s moderate politeness and low on stress,” Virgil explained. “Trust me, she’ll appreciate it.”  
Wheatley found that hard to believe, but even he knew that arguing with Virgil usually went nowhere. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was talk to his superior about his ‘interest’ in one of their regular customers. He was more than willing to let the conversation drop.   
“Talk less, talk less, I can do that,” he muttered to himself, fidgeting with the button of his cuff.   
Virgil watched as Wheatley shuffled around anxiously, shaking his head. There was no way this could end well.


	2. Chapter Two

Ding!  
“Oh! Welcome back!” Wheatley raised a hand and waved excitedly as Chell made her way through the door into the coffeehouse. It was after five in the afternoon and Aperture Café was now bustling with customers. Despite the crowd, Wheatley was shameless in his greeting of his favourite customer.  
Trying to hide her embarrassment at the numerous pairs of eyes now fixed on her, Chell gave only a curt nod in response and made her way to her favourite place in the shop; the back corner behind the stairs with a single cushion chair, end table, and lamp.  
The table was almost always bare, housing only the small lamp and whatever drink had been set there by whomever occupied this corner, but occasionally, once a week to be exact, there would be an unexplained book sitting there in anticipation to be read. Today, right on schedule, a new book was in its correct spot. Chell felt a grin creep over her face at the sight of it. Reading had become one of her favourite pass-times and the inexplicable appearance of new reading material, awaiting her arrival every week, was one of her greatest pleasures since coming to this city.   
Chell had a vague idea of who might be leaving her secret books every week, but she wasn’t sure enough to make a concrete decision. However the identity didn’t matter; they kept themselves hidden for a reason and Chell had no intention of uncovering an identity that didn’t want to be uncovered.   
Dropping her bag to the floor, Chell plopped into the soft cushion chair and picked up the new book, looking it over with an examining eye. Frankenstein; a title Chell knew well but had never gotten around to reading. Without so much as a second thought or consideration of getting a drink, Chell immediately started flipping through the pages and immersing herself into the story.

“You got ignored.”  
“I did not!” Wheatley said indignantly. “She was clearly very busy and very tired and needed to go and take a rest. That was all. Just needs a little lie down in her corner before making any social stretches after a long day of work, is all.” He was wringing his hands anxiously, not meeting the eyes of his coworker, who was giving him a look mixed somewhere between amusement and sympathy.  
“Did you not see her face?” the coworker asked. He was a few inches shorter than Wheatley, but what he lacked against the taller in height he made up for in mass. His shoulders were broad and his hands were large enough to smother a small animal with zero resistance. He spoke with an air of confidence that could make anyone believe he was always in control, no matter the situation.   
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did,” Wheatley stated, crossing his arms and giving his coworker a frown. “And if you did not notice, too busy probably focusing on your reflection in the counter or something, she gave me a nod! A very friendly nod! A nod of acknowledgement and general… friendliness!”  
“Kid, that was a look of suppressed rage,” the coworker, whose name was Rick, explained. “Ladies like that don’t appreciate being shouted at from across the room. You gotta let them come to you and give them something worthy of listening to.”  
“Hellos are worth listening to,” Wheatley muttered under his breath.  
“Speaking of the fine lady,” Rick continued, turning his attention from Wheatley to the barista behind them. “What boring old book did you give her today?”  
The barista ignored Rick for a while, focusing on finishing the unreasonably complicated order before turning around and giving to Rick to pass out to the customer sitting at the end of the counter. “I wouldn’t call it boring.”  
“Well ink and paper can only get so exciting,” Rick pointed out, yawning in an exaggerated manner. He looked his coworker up and down. The man was much smaller than himself, dark hair neatly brushed down and away from his odd mismatched blue and brown eyes. He wasn’t exactly the spitting image of ‘excitement’ so it was no surprise the man found so much interest in books.  
“It’s a safe excitement,” he, a man by the name of Doug, explained, busying himself now with washing the blender.   
“Those two words don’t belong in the same sentence, my friend,” Rick countered. “Why’re you always leaving her books, anyways?”  
“Wait, wait, wait, stop, hold on,” Wheatley interjected, stepping away from the register to face his coworkers. “You’re the one who’s been leaving her books all this time?”  
Doug gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “She seems to like them,” he explained, as if it were a matter of fact.  
“But why? What’s your reason? You—you don’t… you don’t happen to have a thing for her… do you?” Wheatley didn’t want to hear the answer. Every employee knew that he had… an interest in their silent frequent customer, but that didn’t meant there was any form of respect for who had ‘dibs’ on her. Doug wasn’t particularly attractive, not in the same way as Rick at least, and he wasn’t sociable or friendly either. But customers strangely enjoyed Doug’s presence and would often try and start conversations with him, conversations that usually lead to one-worded answers and ended before they could even be started. If he had taken a liking to the lady, Wheatley had no chance of competing.   
Doug looked up from his work to face Wheatley. He avoided eye contact as a general rule, but on the rare occasion he needed to get a serious word across, he made a point of it to look the person directly head-on.   
“I have no interest there,” he assured his coworker, and just as quickly as before, he returned his attention to his work.  
“Hah! That’s a laugh,” Rick said, not taking the exchange seriously in any way. “You mean to tell me you actually take the time to pick out a book for the lady every week, get it to her special little spot so that she’ll be sure to be the one to find it at the right time, and you don’t have a liking to her?”  
Doug shrugged once again. “I appreciate her presence here, that’s all.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wheatley asked, not believing him either.  
“You have a customer,” Doug pointed out, without needing to turn around.  
Sure enough, there was a very annoyed older lady standing in front of the register, impatiently waiting for Wheatley to turn around and ring up her order.  
While Wheatley got an earful of complaints, Rick moved in closer to keep his next comment to Doug somewhat more private.  
“You know, you don’t have to worry about hurting the kid’s feelings. He’s got no chance, anyways,” Rick assured him, giving him a knowing look.  
“He has no reason to worry because I have no interest,” Doug reiterated. He still didn’t meet Rick’s gaze, having no interest in trying to prove his case. When Rick decided something there was no persuading him otherwise.   
“What are you doing, anyways?” Rick asked, noting Doug’s finishing up on what looked to him like the finishing touches of a cat face latte art.  
“She didn’t come order her drink,” Doug pointed out, setting down his small utensil and carefully picking up the mug. He swung open the little door to exit the area behind the counter and made his way over to the corner behind the stairs.  
Chell hadn’t noticed the barista’s approach, being too enthralled in her book to pay any heed to the outside world. The sound of a glass mug lightly clanking against the wooden end table is what pulled her attention away from the story and to the man awkwardly standing a few paces away.  
Doug gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and a brief smile before turning away to get back to his work. Chell made no move to thank him, able to see that the mere action of bringing her drink was uncomfortable enough for him. She would be sure to find another way to repay the kind deed.  
Aperture Café was very interesting to Chell. It wasn’t just their superior coffee, or the quality of any and all products on display or sold in their shop. What Chell found most interesting were the people who worked there. It had been a little over a month since she moved to the city and finding a friendly community wasn’t exactly all in a day’s work. But ever since she found this place three weeks ago she had become to feel more at home here than her current place of residence. Not that that was hard; Chell currently lived in a tiny hotel room in the cheapest hotel her savings could afford. It had been over a month living in a place bigger than anything she had ever known and she still hadn’t found work lasting more than a few days at a time.   
The only place of solace in this big new world had been the café. Even if she couldn’t afford to buy anything the employment had never made any move to ask her to leave. Quite the opposite, in fact, they often slipped her free treats when not being watched by their coworker, Virgil, who was clearly the superior of the staff. Even his strict nature still managed to waver slightly in favor of showing Chell unnecessary kindness.   
It was difficult at first, but after not much time at all Chell had come to the conclusion that she liked the staff here. She was almost certain the man with the mismatched eyes was her friend leaving the books for her, and even if he had never once directly spoken to her she considered him as such. Even the one who never seemed to stop talking (made moderately worse by his unnecessary British accent) was somehow endearing to Chell. As much as she might not have liked to admit it, she considered this café home.  
Chell looked down at the mug, seeing the detailed drawing of a cat’s face in the foam. A small grin spread over her face before taking a long sip.

“Did you talk to her?” Rick pestered as soon as Doug came back behind the counter.  
“No,” he answered, giving the simplest and quickest answer possible.   
“Well why not? You brought her coffee! You even did one of your over-the-top latte arts! Why the hell wouldn’t you talk to her?” Rick was waving his arms incredulously, disappointed at the smaller man’s lack of action.  
“Had nothing to say,” was Doug’s short reply. It was the truth. He had only intended to give her a drink that he was sure she would want, not to make conversation, especially since she was trying to read.   
“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Rick groaned, rubbing his temple with his thumb.   
Wheatley made no comment to the conversation, but was silently thanking every star for his coworker’s aversion to social interaction. He almost didn’t notice the quick look Doug gave him before turning to start making the next order.   
Was it a look of… encouragement?


	3. Chapter Three

There were a lot of things Wheatley hated. Getting wet, thunderstorms, burnt toast, cold tea, buttons that he wasn’t allowed to press, just to name a few. But in his never-ending list of things he hated, early mornings was near the top. With his current work schedule it had almost become a daily event that he got up hours before the sun in order to get to work on time to open the shop.   
Wheatley ran the cash register and that was all he was allowed to do. During his training Virgil quickly decided that making drinks was far beyond Wheatley’s skill level, and the very thought of allowing him in the back to work in the kitchen was too frightening to even consider. He wasn’t bad with customers, but after the fifth spilled drink Virgil realized that even this wasn’t a safe job for him. It was a miracle he had been given a job at all. Wheatley still wasn’t sure why he had been hired; it wouldn’t have been out of kindness from their manager, but whatever the reason he wasn’t about to complain. A job was a job, and he was grateful to find somewhere willing to hire him full time.   
Even if it did mean getting up at 3:30am every morning.  
Wheatley didn’t live anywhere near the café. As a matter of fact he lived approximately thirteen miles away in a tiny one-room apartment. The shop had to be opened every morning at five, and between getting a shower and having to bike the whole way there, Wheatley was only barely making it on time every morning. It would have been more convenient to drive, but he had failed every driving test he ever took, and he had asked if any coworkers wouldn’t mind picking him up every morning, but they all claimed to live too far out of the way of Wheatley’s home for it to be a reasonable detour. So biking the dark streets at unpleasant hours of the night, toting a large backpack carrying his work clothes, would have to do.   
Wheatley hated mornings.  
He had to make himself two cups of tea with extra sugar just to wake him up enough to survive the ride to work. In his early days with the café he had complained profusely about the commute and unreasonable hour, but had learned quickly such complaints only made the workplace less enjoyable than it already was. Dealing with Virgil’s reprimands was bad enough, but the possibility of the manager hearing? Wheatley shuddered to think about the consequences.   
Then three weeks ago, Wheatley started to find that mornings could be tolerable.   
Three weeks ago was when she started coming to the shop. It was the same every morning. She would arrive at half past five, order numerous amounts of caffeine, and check out without so much as a hello. And then she would be back later in the afternoon and stay until closing hours, still never saying a word, still barely acknowledging Wheatley’s existence other than to pay for her goods. But Wheatley didn’t mind. Well, no. He did mind, he minded a lot. But just getting to see her every morning and afternoon and have one-sided conversations with her when she doesn’t walk out in the middle of his sentence was enough to make up for her lack of general interest in his existence.   
With the thought of seeing the silent customer, Wheatley got out of bed and made his way to work with more vigor than the thought of work alone could ever give him.   
Biking was almost tolerable now too. It was a difficult task to begin with. With his awkward height finding a bike that suited his size wasn’t possible, and he was never particularly athletic, so biking those thirteen miles every day, while also trying not to crash ever several feet, was exhausting beyond reason. That’s why he always brought his work clothes to change into when he arrived at work. After being yelled at by Virgil for sweating through his white button up shirt, Wheatley decided the extra baggage was worth the effort every morning. After making this trek for a few months now, and having something at the shop to look forward to every morning, the ride slowly became less painful and more pleasant. The only thing he still couldn’t get used to was the bitter cold, made worse by the wind rushing past him as he flew recklessly down the streets. It didn’t take him long to realize that scarves and hats and mittens were his friends.   
At a quarter till five Wheatley arrived at the café. With the spare set of keys (begrudgingly) entrusted to him, he opened the shop and began setting up for the day.  
Ding!  
“Morning Wheatley,” came the voice of his superior entering through the front door, any hints of exhaustion either suppressed or just not there to begin with.   
Wheatley greeted Virgil with a simple wave and a yawn; he was still trying to get over the last remains of sleep in his system.   
Virgil joined him behind the counter and went to the back to put on his apron. “You’ve been showing up on time lately,” he noted, sounding almost conversational.  
Wheatley nodded, stretching his arms. “I’m all full of professional duties,” he responded, referring back to their prior conversation.  
“Uh-huh,” Virgil started wiping down the counter. “Sure it’s not out of any personal interests?”  
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Wheatley said, innocently pressing buttons on the register.  
“Stop that!” Virgil snapped, slapping Wheatley’s hands away. “Here, put this in there.”  
He handed Wheatley a five-dollar bill. “What’s this for?” Wheatley asked.  
“My morning coffee,” Virgil said, already starting to make his usual large mug of dark roast with cream.  
The first half hour of the shop being opened usually went on in silence. Depending on whoever was working that morning, conversations generally stayed to a minimum, and rarely customers would come in before six. Wheatley often complained about having the shop opened so early when no one ever showed up, but apparently the manager had insisted on opening at five every morning of every day of every week. The shop didn’t close until midnight, and Wheatley was almost always scheduled to work opening and closing hours, giving him only approximately two and a half hours at home for sleep. He quickly had to learn to get by with taking naps during his few hours off during the day and filling his body with as much caffeine and sugar as he was willing to tolerate. Days off were few and far between, but when they did come he tended to spend them locked away in his apartment dead underneath his warm blanket.  
When five-thirty came around their usual silent customer came in and took her seat at the bar counter, like clockwork.   
“Good morning, love!” Wheatley said in his normal excited voice, giving her an unreasonably enthusiastic wave for this particular hour of the morning.  
Chell responded with a nod and a small wave, resting her head on the counter. Wheatley couldn’t help but notice her movements were slower today, like she was still half asleep.  
“The usual, miss?” Virgil asked, leaning against the counter.   
Chell nodded as best she could with her head still lying on the counter, not even bothering to open her eyes.  
“No offense miss, but you look awful,” Virgil pointed out, turning to start making her drink. It appeared their third coworker was late for work that morning. Again.  
“Wha—what is wrong with you? You can’t just tell a lady she looks awful!” Wheatley scolded him, shooting Virgil an incredulous look. “Don’t listen to him. You look—you look perfectly fine! Very lovely and… brown! Very brown! With your hair… all swooped over your face… and my, that is a lovely brown blouse, if I do say so myself. See, Virgil wouldn’t know a beautiful lady if she were sitting right in front of him, much like you are now. So don’t worry; you don’t look the slightest bit tired, or disheveled, or possibly half dead based on the empty look in your eyes.”  
During Wheatley’s chattering Chell had slowly raised her head to look up at him, only half taking in what was being relayed to her.   
“That is not the look of someone who’s fine,” Virgil commented, bringing Chell her first round of caffeine. “Seriously miss, something go wrong?”  
Chell took the glass gratefully and immediately began chugging it down. After emptying its contents she held out her hand, asking for another.  
“I’ll cut a deal with you,” Virgil said, leaning forward against the counter and looking her square in the eyes. “Next three rounds are on me. You just tell us what’s going on and why you’re always coming in here looking half dead. Sound like a plan?”  
Wheatley was surprised at Virgil’s boldness and was half afraid the lady would take offense to it. But when she met Virgil’s gaze her look wasn’t insulted at all. In fact it almost looked like she was strongly considering the deal. After a few moments of silence she nodded her head, agreeing.   
“Alright,” Virgil went to work on her second round. “Why don’t you go ahead and start explaining, huh?”  
Wheatley waited with anticipation. Was she actually going to finally say something after over three weeks of agonizing silence? He had spent more time than he was willing to admit imagining what her voice must sound like, expecting it to be soft and smooth like a pleasant dream from a Sunday afternoon nap.   
Of course when she pulled out a notepad and pen and began writing Wheatley wasn’t entirely surprised. He knew perfectly well most people didn’t talk as much as he did, but to never speak at all wasn’t exactly normal. He almost wondered if she had some sort of brain damage that kept her from speaking, but that had to be a ridiculous assumption. Or maybe it wasn’t; maybe it was a perfectly accurate and reasonable assumption?  
When she finished with her note she turned the pad and slid it towards the other side of the counter. Since Virgil was otherwise occupied with her drink, Wheatley picked up the pad and examined her very neat handwriting.   
“Can’t find a job,” he read. “Is that really the whole issue?”  
“That’s a pretty big issue to have,” Virgil pointed out, sliding Chell the next drink.  
Chell nodded in affirmation, downing the contents of her second glass.   
“But finding work shouldn’t be too hard,” Wheatley continued. “I mean this place isn’t exactly lacking in need for employment. There’s literally shops running all up and down every street. Even that old run down China cabinet store could probably use some extra hands.”  
Chell took the pad out of Wheatley’s hands and began writing on it again. When she finished her next message she handed it to Virgil to read.   
“No one will hire someone who can’t talk,” Virgil read. “Wait, you actually can’t talk?”  
Chell nodded.  
“Well why didn’t you say so before?” Wheatley questioned, a little exasperated.   
Chell raised an eyebrow at him. Was he seriously asking that?  
“Wait, wait, no I might not have thought that through. Hm, fair point, fair point,” Wheatley mused, thinking it over.  
“I wish I could help you miss, but our manager isn’t interested in any new employment at the moment,” Virgil told her, his voice genuinely sympathetic. He began making her third drink.  
Chell just nodded vaguely before resting her head back on the counter, her demeanor one of defeat.   
Wheatley felt truly sorry for her. She always came into the café every morning looking so determined, so full of life (once she got her full dose of caffeine, that is); seeing her looking so deflated felt wrong. Wheatley didn’t like it. Something needed to be done about it.  
“I have an idea,” he said, a spark of determination in his eyes.  
“No, no no no no no, no keep your ideas away from the customers,” Virgil interjected, quickly moving to get between Wheatley and the lady.   
“No, it’s a good idea this time!” Wheatley explained, bouncing a little with the excitement.   
“Your ideas are a lot of things and good is not one of them,” Virgil countered.  
“That is an unfair assessment,” Wheatley argued. “Trust me, this is a good idea. A brilliant idea. An idea that could actually be useful!”  
“I don’t want to hear any more about you and ideas, now get back to your spot,” Virgil commanded, his tone turning into one of authority.   
Chell reached across the counter and tapped Virgil on the shoulder. When he turned around she pointed at Wheatley and gave him a shrug, wanting to hear his ‘brilliant idea’.   
“Miss, you don’t have to be nice,” Virgil told her. “Trust me, whatever his idea is, it isn’t going to be good for your health.”  
“That is not true!” Wheatley complained.  
“Quiet you,” Virgil snapped.   
Chell tugged on his shoulder and pointed at Wheatley again, insisting.   
Virgil groaned, rubbing his temple with his thumb. “Fine, alright, but it’s your funeral, lady.” It was too early in the morning to deal with this nonsense.   
Chell gave him an appreciative smile. She was certain she could take care of herself.  
“Alright, here it is,” Wheatley started, moving over to the counter excitedly. “If you’re having so much trouble finding work, maybe you just need some help? Finding places to go, communicating with people, all those things that I’m sure you do perfectly fine with, but it doesn’t help to have an extra pair of eyes, right? Why don’t I help you look for work?”  
“Miss, I recommend you run and never look back,” Virgil warned, a sense of urgency in his voice.  
“No, no, no, I promise I can really help,” Wheatley insisted. “I’ve lived here most of my life, I know the area well, know how it is looking for work and having trouble finding it. All you probably need is just a little motivation! A little extra help on the side, someone to give you an encouraging push, or some helpful advice, or a convincing word to a manager. I have connections you know. Well, a couple connections. Well, maybe one. But it’s a good one, I promise!”  
Chell listened patiently as he went on, nodding slightly in understanding when he finished. It was true she didn’t know the area very well; maybe having some inside help would be beneficial?   
Wheatley was giving her a hopeful look, trying to make his eyes as pleading as possible.  
Chell thought the idea over for a moment longer before eventually giving him a nod, agreeing to the idea.  
“You-you’re actually agreeing to it?” Wheatley asked, a bit surprised by the response. “Brilliant! Oh, this is brilliant! I promise you won’t be disappointed, not in the slightest! And at the end of the day, if you don’t have at least one job interview, you have full permission to never come back here again, or speak to us again, well, not speak, but—oh you know what I mean.”  
“You do not have that permission,” Virgil argued, passing Chell the third drink. “She is a very valuable customer and I am not having your wacky idea run her off.”  
“Okay, fine,” Wheatley said, changing his mind. “If you don’t have at least one job interview by the end of the day, you have full permission to, well, to do whatever it is you want to do out of frustration. All I ask is that you please refrain from punching me in the face. That is all I ask.”  
Chell was finding it hard not to smile at this. She had always found this person to be a little annoying, albeit still endearing in his own strange way, but she couldn’t deny the gratitude she felt towards him for being so earnest in wanting to help. She gave him another nod and allowed herself a small smile of thanks.  
Wheatley was almost stunned silent. Never once had their silent customer ever directed one of her gentle smiles in his direction. And now she was looking straight at him and grinning like he had just given her a puppy. He felt his face get warm, and he really hoped it wasn’t visibly noticeable.   
“Deal?” he asked, holding out his hand for her to shake.  
Chell nodded, taking his hand and shaking once firmly.   
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Virgil muttered, starting on the promised fourth drink.   
“Oh, wait, one quick question!” Wheatley started, realizing there was still one important piece of information missing. “I still don’t actually know your name. You don’t have to tell me, but I’m pretty sure it would be slightly more convenient if I knew what to call you, aside from ‘hey lady’, wouldn’t it?”  
Chell suppressed a laugh and pulled her pen back out, writing it down on the pad and sliding it over to the other side of the counter.  
Wheatley picked up the pad and read her last message, sounding it out in his head and reading it again, and then again for good measure.  
Chell~


	4. Chapter Four

Wheatley had come to the decision that mornings were in fact not so bad. At least, not when mornings entailed sleeping in until eight, and not having to be out and about until nine-thirty, right outside of Aperture Café where he had promised to meet Chell on that Thursday morning.   
It was his first day off in over a week. Normally he would have spent the day catching up on all the sleep he severely lacked, but right now sleep wasn’t a priority. He tried not to think too much about it, or too hard and make himself sick, but Wheatley couldn’t deny the welling excitement in his chest at the thought of spending a day with the silent customer he had admired for nearly the past month. They would go around the whole city, looking in shops and stores and working together to a common goal, and to all of this she had agreed willingly, and with him, of all people!  
Wheatley patted his cheeks, trying to keep the slight redness he could feel building up down. He needed to stay calm, to appear to some degree of cool and collected. He couldn’t go off getting butterflies in his stomach now. He was unwilling to admit just how much time he had spent preparing for this day, taking the time to wash his hair twice, make sure every little hair was neatly shaved off his face, and contemplated for several minutes whether or not to wear a blue shirt or a red one. He went with blue.   
9:28, two more minutes until she was meant to arrive. Wheatley took another calming breath, letting it out slowly. He tried to think of an appropriate greeting. Hello was always a safe bet, but maybe something more casual? A ‘hey’, or a ‘how’s it going’? He was so busy contemplating this that when he felt a small tap on his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.  
“Oh, it’s—hello! It’s you, it’s just you,” Wheatley stammered, trying to gather his ruffled senses. “Not that it’s, well you know, just you or anything. You is a very good thing! Are, are a very good thing. I mean, seeing you, that is; a very pleasant thing. Hello.”  
Chell had to fight back a smirk, struck somewhere between amusement and slight annoyance at his insistent rambling. She pointed towards the café, shrugging lightly. It was her way of asking if he wanted to go inside and start out the day with maybe some coffee or breakfast.  
“Oh, um, actually,” Wheatley began. “Perhaps we could go somewhere else today? Somewhere that we aren’t both stuck at every other day of our lives. Not that you’re stuck there, you can come and go as you please. But you seem to choose to spend all your time there, and quite honestly I do not know why, I do not know why at all. As far as places go it isn’t the grandest. I mean, yes you’ve got food and caffeine and books, which you really do seem to love, and a comfy place to sit. But I’d imagine it would get a bit boring after a while, wouldn’t it?”  
Chell thought about that for a moment before shrugging again. She had never found the coffeehouse to be boring at all. In fact she found it very relaxing and calm, and on occasion very entertaining, depending on who worked that day. But she could understand his not wanting to go there if it wasn’t necessary. She might have enjoyed it, but she also wasn’t there every day out of obligation.   
Without waiting for another speech from the walking telephone pole, Chell started making her way down the street.  
Wheatley followed after her, not the slightest bit fazed by her walking off. “Not the best place in the world but I know somewhere that might be marginally decent in providing breakfast before we get started on our day. How does that sound?”  
Chell gave him an uncommitted nod, not having much of a preference either way.  
“Perfect. It’s just a few blocks in this direction, not far at all. On we go!”  
Chell found it surprisingly difficult to keep up him, being a fairly fast walker herself. She decided to blame it on his incredibly long stride, and found herself having to almost jog to keep up. After no time at all with their pace they arrived outside of what Chell recognized as a mainstream coffee business.   
Chell raised an eyebrow at him; somewhat surprised to see him willingly give service to a place that was an obvious competitor with the business at which he worked.  
“Just be sure to keep this between us, alright?” Wheatley asked, giving her an innocent grin that reached from ear to ear.  
Chell couldn’t help but crack a smile and nod in agreement.  
The wait in line luckily wasn’t terribly long, and after only a few minutes it was their turn to order.  
“Hello! Yes, I would just like a cup of tea. Simple cup, any kind will do, two sugars please. And my friend here will have… what do you normally get, love? A coffee? She’ll have a coffee with cream and extra expresso, if you please.” Wheatley pulled out a small wad of cash to pay for their drinks, thinking himself very gentleman-like for paying for Chell’s item.   
“Did you mean espresso, sir?” the man at the register asked, trying his best to sound polite.  
“Alright, I understand that at this particular establishment you lack a certain level of… sophistication,” Wheatley started, his tone taking on an air of pretention. Or, at least more pretention than was normal for him. “But I assure you the term is expresso. Ex-presso, do you understand? Now I know, I know, it’s an easy mistake. We’ve all made it from time to time, but just take this as a learning experience. You don’t want to seem ignorant in front of your customers, do you? Honestly, it would look very bad on not only your position but your entire workplace.”  
Chell was holding her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back the laughter that was threatening to break loose. She couldn’t decide whom she felt more sorry for; Wheatley, for his completely oblivious ignorance, or the man at the register having to deal with such a ridiculous lecture from a very undignified customer.   
Due to this exchange they were met with lukewarm drinks and a severely strong lack of sugar in Wheatley’s tea.   
“How absolutely unprofessional,” Wheatley muttered as they left the shop. “Can you believe that? I try to give them a very generous piece of advice and this is how they repay us? You didn’t even do anything, just stood there! Petty, I tell you. Very petty. A sign of a primitive establishment. One that is certainly never getting any of my service again, you mark my words.”  
Chell stopped as they approached a bench and sat down, pulling out her pad and pen. Once her message was finished she held it up for Wheatley to read.  
“Who is your connection?” he read, not understanding what the message was supposed to mean. “Connection? What connection? What are you talking about?”  
Chell furrowed her brows, giving him a confused look. Hadn’t he told her that he had a job connection for her?   
“Oh, oh that!” Wheatley said, finally remembering. “Um, right, about that…”  
Chell narrowed her eyes at him. He did have a connection for her, right?  
“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Wheatley started, noticing her look of distress. “I do have a connection, and I wasn’t lying, it is a good one! It’s just… it was my old job, see? And while it was indeed a good job, the employer was… well… how do I put this? Possibly very… possibly not the friendliest person you could meet in the world.”  
Chell moved her hand in a questioning gesture. She could care less if the employer was nice; a job was a job.  
“So if that’s alright with you, if you’re totally confident that it won’t be a problem at all in the slightest, shall we head that direction?” Wheatley asked, taking a step in the direction down the street that Chell assumed was towards the place he spoke of.  
Getting up, Chell gave him a nod and a determined smile. 

Ding!  
“Hello? Anyone home?”  
Wheatley made his way inside the dark lit shop. From what Chell could tell, it looked like an old antique shop; the smell of mothballs and dust filled the air, making Chell almost cough instinctively.   
“Hellooo? Ouiser, love? Are you there?” Wheatley called, stepping farther into the shop. “That’s strange, she’s usually right out front sweeping the floor religiously. Where did she get to? Hello? Ouiser, love, you’ve got customers you know? Very rude to leave us standing around with no service. Are you—ow!”  
Chell jumped back, startled by the sudden object thrown in their direction. Whatever it was it had hit Wheatley square in the face. Emerging from the darkness of the dimly lit shop was an older lady with tuffs of curly grey hair, sticking up at odd angles from around a bandana tied to her head. Based on the murderous expression of her face, and her arm reeled back, ready to throw another projectile, hearing Wheatley’s voice must not have been a pleasant wakeup call for the old shop owner.  
“What the bloody hell was that for?” Wheatley asked, more offended than hurt at this point. “Is this how you greet an old friend?”  
“Friend? Friend?!” the old woman, Ouiser, questioned in a scratchy voice. “Your sorry ass nearly burned down my entire shop! Where the hell do you go off thinking we’re friends?”  
“Language!” Wheatley chided. “There is a lady present!”  
“Are you insinuating that I’m not a lady?” Ouiser growled, raising her arm farther.  
“No, no, no! Not at all! Of course not!” Wheatley said quickly, shrinking back and raising his arms to his face defensively. “You are the most ladylike lady I have ever had the pleasure to meet, honest! A real woman! With lots of womanly qualities, like… feminine hair! And… and a distinct womanly… er—aura?”  
Chell couldn’t help but laugh at this.  
“Who are you?” Ouiser asked, directing her attention towards Chell now. “What is a fine lady like yourself doing with such a degenerate like this?”  
“That was slightly hurtful,” Wheatley put in, careful not to sound too hurt by it. “Just every so slightly offensive, you know.”  
Chell pulled out her pad and pen and wrote a note for the shop owner, holding out to her when she was done.  
Ouiser gave her a strange look, pulling on the large green glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck. “I need a job,” she read, looking between the note and Chell. “So? What does that have to do with me?”  
“Well, I was hoping, or rather we were hoping,” Wheatley began, trying to make himself sound as polite as possible. “That you might be in the market for a job offer? The lady here, Chell, by the way, lovely name, Chell, is in very desperate need of a good place to work, and of course upon hearing about this the first person I thought would be perfect for her to work under was you!”  
Ouiser looked between Chell and Wheatley, thinking this over. “Miss, what have you done to piss him off?”  
“Oh, come now, I meant that as a compliment!” Wheatley pleaded. “I realize my time here wasn’t… wasn’t very pleasant for you. And that you have no interest in ever allowing anyone else to work here again, because the last experience was… traumatizing… but I promise—I promise you Chell is a very trustworthy young lady. She would work hard, and help with any heavy lifting, and probably actually not drop anything, and I can guarantee she wouldn’t set anything on fire; all you need to do is feed her caffeine and she’s golden!”  
Chell gave Wheatley a strange look. She was a bit surprised at how insistent he was being in his attempt to help her find work, but she was also somewhat curious about his experiences working here. He hadn’t actually nearly set the place on fire, had he?  
Ouiser looked Chell up and down, as if trying to find some horrible flaw in her system. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked.  
“What? Nothing, nothing at all! Nothing’s wrong with her, what a silly question to ask,” Wheatley stammered, trying to dodge the question.   
“No perfectly capable young lady would come into this shop looking for a job, especially with the likes of you,” Ouiser pointed out, giving Wheatley a bitter look.  
“That is… a very unfair assessment,” Wheatley argued, crossing his arms.  
Chell wrote out another note and handed it to Ouiser, deciding to go ahead and get it over with.  
Ouiser looked the note over. “Can’t talk, huh?” she asked, giving Chell another calculating stare.   
Chell waited, holding her breath. She gave Ouiser a short nod, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be an automatic deal-breaker. Wheatley was right. This lady wasn’t exactly pleasant, but a job was a job, and Chell had become desperate.   
“I know I have no right to be asking for any favors,” Wheatley began, talking a little softer now. “But if you help her out I promise I will make it up to you.”  
Ouiser stared at Wheatley for a long time, her expression something Chell couldn’t read. The exchange was strange to Chell; it almost felt like there was some underlying conversation happening in this moment that she couldn’t pick up on. Was there something else going on here that she didn’t know?  
After what felt like ages, Ouiser let out a sigh. “How good are you at lifting?” she asked Chell, assessing her for a third time.  
Chell gave her an assured nod; physical tasks weren’t a challenge for her.  
“I deal with all the customers so you could speak Mandarin Chinese for all I care,” Ouiser went on. “But I’m getting older and furniture ain’t easy to move on your own at my age.”  
Chell nodded again, feeling small twinges of hope pull at her chest.  
Ouiser was silent again, still contemplating. Wheatley was practically bouncing up and down on his toes, unable to contain himself from the anticipation.  
“Well alright, fine,” Ouiser said, letting out an exasperated huff. “I’ll give you a week at least. Break anything or give me the slightest bit of trouble and I’m throwing you out faster than you can blink. Got it?”  
Chell could hardly believe it. Though her reaction was much more contained than Wheatley’s triumphant cheer, she gave Ouiser a broad grin and a determined nod. She wasn’t going to screw this up.


	5. Chapter Five

“So… how did it go?”  
“Hm, sorry, what are you talking about?” Wheatley asked, finishing up tying his blue apron behind his back. There were still a few minutes before the shop officially opened and Wheatley had a number of things to get done before then. After his long day yesterday, he accidentally slept in past his alarm and was consequently almost late for work.  
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Virgil said, fixing his usual large cup of dark roast he always bought every morning. Wheatley was convinced that if Virgil ever went a day without it, it would be the day the world suddenly came to an end.   
“Nope, sorry, you’re going to have to be a little more specific, mate,” Wheatley said innocently, unlocking the register and making sure all of its contents were in their place.  
“With her!” Virgil snapped, getting a little irritated with Wheatley’s purposeful dodging. He was a terrible liar, after all.  
“Oh, oh you mean that!” Wheatley exclaimed, pretending to only just now realize the nature of Virgil’s inquiry. “Eh, it wasn’t so bad, I suppose. Nothing particularly exciting. We got coffee, chatted it up for a while, well, you know, I chatted and she listened and occasionally put in a message or two, looked around for a bit, had a few laughs, and I may or may not have found her a very good job, but you know, nothing big. No need to praise me or anything.”  
Virgil was just about to take his first gulp, but had to stop himself. He set down the cup and looked Wheatley up and down, almost unbelieving. “You mean to tell me you actually found her a job?” Virgil asked, his eyes slightly widened in their disbelief.  
“Don’t look at me like it’s such a surprise,” Wheatley complained. “I can be actually very resourceful when I need to be, you know?”  
“Uh-huh…” Virgil said, nodding vaguely. Wheatley was a lot of things but resourceful was never one Virgil would have considered. Still, if this were actually true, Virgil would have no other choice but to be impressed with him.  
It didn’t take more than half an hour for Wheatley’s claims to be backed. As soon as Chell arrived at her usual time, before she even got the chance to make it to the counter, Virgil was calling to her from across the shop.  
“Hey miss! Did you actually find a job yesterday or is this some elaborate joke?” he asked, giving Wheatley a side-glance. He wouldn’t put that sort of juvenile prank past him.   
Chell took her usual seat and nodded. She gave Wheatley another small smile of thanks before turning back to Virgil to hold up three fingers. She was only going to need that many today.  
Virgil shook his head, hardly being able to believe his own eyes. “This job, it is a real job, right? It’s not some sort of back alley deal or illegal heist, is it?”  
“Oh, have a little more faith in me, would you?” Wheatley argued. “It’s a good job. At a nice little shop with a nice little employer. Isn’t that right, Chell?”  
Chell stifled a laugh and nodded in agreement. His statement was… mostly accurate.  
“And you’re actually pleased with it?” Virgil asked, still finding it hard to buy any of this.  
Chell nodded again. It wasn’t going to be the most pleasant of places to work, but if it provided her with food on the table and a roof over her head, she could care less about whether or not the shop owner was particularly kind.  
“I see,” Virgil said, turning around to start working on Chell’s first round of caffeine. “Well, as much as I can’t believe I’m saying this, good job, Wheatley.”  
“Thank you,” Wheatley replied proudly, giving him an exaggerated bow. Chell couldn’t help but find this exchange amusing.   
After paying for her drinks, Chell excused herself from the shop. Today was her first day of work and the owner made it very clear that if she didn’t arrive at exactly 6 o’clock she would be out faster than the old woman could spit. Her choice of words, not Chell’s.   
“Did you seriously give her your old job?” Virgil asked as soon as Chell had exited through the front door.  
“Yes, what’s so wrong with that?” Wheatley asked. “It’s full time, it pays well, and honestly you should be thanking me. Without a job our favourite customer wouldn’t be able to give us any business, and we all know how much you love her business.”  
“Yes, but didn’t you say your old job was a nightmare?” Virgil pointed out, narrowing his eyes. “I would have thought you’d want her to have something at least decently pleasant.”  
“Okay, yes, I did say it was a horrible job and the owner might be a little crazy and possibly tried to poison me at one point, but—but! Chell is probably much more qualified for the job than I ever was, so, it’s not entirely out of the question that it would go much more smoothly for her than it did for me,” Wheatley stammered, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than Virgil of this.  
Virgil gave him a skeptical look. “Whatever you say…”  
Ding!  
“You’re late,” Virgil called, not even having to look up to know who had just entered the shop. It was still a few minutes before six, and unless schedules suddenly changed or a new customer showed up at this early hour, their next regular customer wasn’t due to show up for at least eight more minutes.   
“Again,” Virgil added when Doug made it behind the counter, heading to the back to put away his bag and grab his apron.  
“Sorry,” he apologized, sounding as sincere as someone could while still appearing to be half asleep. The usual dark circles under his eyes were a little more prominent than usual, and any efforts to hide the yawn that threatened to escape his mouth were lost.  
“Doug, how many days have you worked this week?” Virgil asked, crossing his arms and addressing the man with a stern look.  
“Six, I believe,” Doug answered, considering the question for a moment, as if he were trying to remember for sure.  
“And do you know how many days you have showed up late this week?” Virgil asked, his voice rising ever so slightly.  
Doug didn’t answer that question. He didn’t need to answer it to know what Virgil was going to say next.  
“Every day this week you’ve been assigned to come into work at five,” Virgil began, his tone no longer hiding his clear disappointment. “And every day you’ve never been less than half an hour late. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
Doug didn’t meet his superior’s gaze, busying himself with tying up his apron. If he thought he had a decent response to give Virgil he would have, but unfortunately such was not possible.  
“Wheatley, have you wiped down the tables yet?” Virgil asked, still not shifting his stern eyes from Doug.  
“Already done,” Wheatley reported, his tone probably sounding more cheery than was necessary.  
“Do them again,” Virgil commanded. By the look on his face it was clear this was not up for debate. Wheatley looked between Virgil and Doug before going off to complete the task, for once not attempting to argue.  
Once Wheatley was relatively out of earshot, Virgil continued, his voice quieter but still just as insistent. “Late one day is acceptable. Late two days is pushing it, but it can be tolerated. Late six days, and that’s just in one week’s time, and this week isn’t even over yet, then we start having problems.”  
Doug still made no attempt to respond. He was avoiding Virgil’s growing glare by counting the tiles on the floor, starting over again when he had counted them all.  
“I’ve had to lie, you know?” Virgil went on. “I’ve had to lie to her about you being late. I’ve had to go in and actually change the times you’ve clocked in just to keep her off your back. I don’t enjoy lying. I’m not good at it, and it isn’t professional. But I’ve done it again and again on your behalf and I can’t do it anymore. Do you understand?”  
Doug nodded, attempting to mumble an apology. It wasn’t that his apology wasn’t sincere, but it was hard for Doug to make his words reach Virgil in any sort of realistic fashion. He continued counting the tiles on the floor.  
“I’m not sure how much you’ve been keeping up with the schedule, but do you know who’s working this afternoon?” Virgil asked. “She is. Our manager. Actually working out front with the rest of us today. You’re working this afternoon too, yes? She’s already suspected something is up, and she’s going to be watching you like a hawk. I’m not going to be here to cover for you, either. What are you going to do if she questions you? I know you’ve been working here longer than anyone, myself excluded of course, but that doesn’t mean she won’t fire you if she decides you’ve become more of a nuisance than a help.”  
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Doug said quietly. He wanted more than anything for this conversation to be over. Virgil was right, he hadn’t been very attentive to the schedule and didn’t even realize the manager would be working with him this afternoon, and the sudden realization of this was enough to nearly put him in a panic. He continued counting the tiles.  
“That’s what you said last time,” Virgil reminded him. “And the time before that. And the time before that. And the many, many times before that. I’m really starting to think you’re just saying that without meaning it.”  
There was no point in trying to argue his case. Virgil was right and Doug had no reasonable excuse to counter it. At least none that he considered worthy of mentioning.  
“Done,” Wheatley said, suddenly appearing again. “Though they were already quite clean, having, as I’ve said, already cleaned them. But now they’re at least twice as clean as normal and I’m sure that can’t be too much of a problem. Unless you consider it a waste of water and cleaning supplies. In which case it was a bit of a massive waste, but I’m sure you thought all that through.”  
“Do them again,” Virgil commanded. “Actually, do them over twice again.”  
“What—twice? But I’ve literally just finished cleaning them for the second time this morning, and no one’s even been in here yet to dirty them up. Honestly this is a waste of resources, don’t you think?” Wheatley was giving him an exasperated look. He couldn’t honestly be serious, right?  
“I think I want to be able to see the twinkle in your sweet mother’s eyes when she looks at her reflection in those tables, now go clean them again, and then again,” Virgil barked at him, taking his attention away from Doug just long enough to get this message across to Wheatley.  
Without so much as a nod of understanding, Wheatley quickly backed away and went to clean the tables. Again.  
Virgil sighed, resting his head in his hands for a moment before returning his look to Doug, his eyes less stern and a little weary. “Look, you’ve always been a reliable worker. You don’t cause near as much trouble as everyone else, and you never give the customers any reason to complain. If something is wrong it would be better to just tell me so we can find a way to work around it, alright?”  
Doug stopped counting, but still kept his gaze on the floor. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” was his quiet explanation.  
“You haven’t been neglecting your medication, have you?” Virgil asked, his voice now taking on a concerned tone.  
Doug shook his head. “Sometimes it doesn’t make a difference.”  
Virgil frowned. “Difference or not, if something is hindering you from being able to complete your work you need to do something about it. I can’t cover for you any more than I already have, but… if you need any outside help, with whatever the problem may be, I’m not opposed to doing what I can to assist. But I need you to work harder here, alright? The manager isn’t going to take ‘not sleeping well’ as a profitable excuse, and I’m sure you have no interest in going into any more details than she needs to know, yes?”  
Doug nodded; the less he had to interact with the manager the better.   
“Then I expect you to show up when you are scheduled to show up,” Virgil concluded, turning to start boiling some water. Their second customer of the day would be there at any moment now. “Manage that for now and we’ll work around your sleep troubles, okay?”  
Doug nodded once again, looking at his superior for the first time during this whole exchange. “Yes sir.”  
“Good, now go stop that idiot before he scrubs a hole into our fine furnishing.”


	6. Chapter Six

“I would like… coffee.”  
“You’re going to need to be more specific,” the woman behind the counter told the customer, a young fellow with purposefully messy hair and square glasses that looked a little too plastic to be a real prescription.   
“I just want coffee. Regular, normal coffee. Is that too hard to understand?” the young man pressed, sounding proud of himself for his request, like he had just told the Barista the greatest paradox that could ever fall upon her ears, because Heaven forbid someone go into a coffeehouse and order plain coffee.  
The woman was less than amused by his attempt at pretentious humor. Her eyes, a brown so light they almost appeared golden, flashed at the challenge he attempted to pose.   
“You probably think you sound very clever,” she started, her voice carrying an air of bored sophistication, a sign that she was much better than anyone within a mile of her radius, and not because that’s what she personally thought, but because it was an actual fact. “Coming in here, convinced you live on a plane of existence superior to everyone else because you can see through the corporate conspiracy of elevated coffee beverages –which, by the way, isn’t actually a thing– but you aren’t. You don’t sound clever at all; you sound like a child trying to prove to his parents that he’s intelligent, when he actually has no idea what he’s talking about. Now please, state your order in specific terms or I’m going to have to ask you to get out of line.”  
“And what she means by that is your next two drinks are on the house,” Rick said, interjecting himself into the conversation, trying to recover the ground his superior just cost them. While no one ever could flat-out tell their manager her customer relations were… in need of work, they could try and make up for any offense she caused on the rare occasions when she worked out front of the shop.  
That afternoon was one of those rare times, and Doug had the misfortune of being scheduled to work until closing. After his conversation with Virgil that morning, he had been extra careful to get back to work for his afternoon shift on time. He took every precaution possible, buying three cups of their strongest dark roast and spending his early afternoon curled up in the corner of the shop, too tired to focus on passing the time with a book but too wired from the caffeine to actually fall asleep. And on the off chance that he did, he had very meekly requested that Wheatley wake him up before leaving at the end of his shift. The young man had the afternoon off since the manager came into work, and her position had usually been the only one he was ever allowed to work, the register.   
Having miraculously made it on time, and somehow still alive on his feet, the afternoon shift had so far gone smoothly for Doug. The manager never once approached him or questioned him, only needing to interact with him to question about the validity of certain orders (she was always on unreasonable guard against customers trying to pay less than what they actually received). But this did little to quiet his nerves. Virgil had been beyond kind to go out on a limb for him, especially without any solid excuse on Doug’s part for his tardiness. Doug knew he was going to need to make it up to him, and if it meant not sleeping for seventy-two hours and doing everything possible to stay on the manager’s good side, he would do it.   
“Now I know you know what you’re doing, ma’am,” Rick was saying, trying his best to make his tone as polite and level as possible. For him, such a task wasn’t terribly strenuous. “But customers generally don’t like it when the help snaps back at them. I know, kid probably deserved it, but we don’t need some poor sucker going around spreading bad information about us.”  
The manager, standing at a height even more unreasonably tall than the walking telephone pole that was Wheatley, stared down at Rick with an expression that to anyone else would have meant immediate death. Even someone of Rick’s generous stature looked small and insignificant in her wake, but he didn’t shrink back. It took a lot more to scare Rick than it did most other employees at the café.   
“If someone is going to make such a childish fuss over being an insufferable know-it-all, his business was never of value to us to begin with,” the manager stated, her words icy enough to freeze the hot drink Doug just finished preparing. It took every ounce of his willpower to set it safely on the counter without shaking out any of its contents. Just being in the same room as her was enough to make Doug consider finding the largest cabinet and hiding in it.   
“I know, I know, I share that sentiment,” Rick assured her, trying to mend any mistakes he might’ve made in his last statement. “But we probably shouldn’t voice our frustration to the customers faces, if you know what I mean.”  
Doug never ceased to be impressed by Rick’s bravery. He could barely get out a ‘hello’ or ‘yes manager’ to her without his hands shaking violently and his heart beating so fast if felt like it was ready to burst out of his chest. But Rick… Rick could speak to her with the courage of someone who knew when and where they were going to die, and that no matter how close they got to death it would never even think to touch them. In short, he was the polar opposite of Doug.  
“If we don’t tell it to their faces then where are we supposed to tell it?” the manager questioned, though it didn’t sound like she actually required an answer. “If you’re insinuating I should sugar-coat my frustration—”  
“No, not at all!” Rick said quickly, holding up his hands in a sign of peace. “I’m just saying we gotta… be tactful in the way we show our frustration, you get what I’m saying?”  
The manager narrowed her eyes, their bright sunny glow far too cheery for someone of her nature. “I see…” she said, carefully considering Rick’s words. “Then the next time something like that happens, I’ll leave it to you to take care of.”  
“That’d be swell, ma’am,” Rick said, fully appreciating the responsibility she was handing him.  
Things returned to a relative state of calm, Doug remaining in his corner making the orders Rick passed on to him from customers and the manager manning the register. Doug remarked to himself the wonder that they still had any business after days when the manager worked out front. He could only attribute the fact that people weren’t instantly scared away to that, while the manager was indeed terrifying, she was also strangely intriguing. Even with the high levels of fear that accompanied being in her presence, no one could help but feel drawn to her, much like a moth is drawn to a flame. Everyone could watch in terror and wonder at the inferno standing before them, but anyone who dared get close enough to touch was instantly burned.   
That is, everyone but Virgil.  
When Doug applied to work at the café it had only just open. There were only two people who were actually employed at the time, and they were the manger and Virgil. From day one Doug had seen that their relationship was one unlike anyone could have shared with her. For one, Virgil never cowered in her presence, or even showed the faintest signs of discomfort. He also had the ability to speak freely with her, a feat that if attempted by anyone else would have resulted in immediate removal from the shop, and very possibly a number of threats chasing you on the way out. The reckless abandon that Rick displayed in his interactions with her were small in comparison to Virgil’s own. Rick could speak to her eye-to-eye because he was probably braver than was reasonable. Virgil could speak to her eye-to-eye because he knew her.   
No one dared to ask how, or why, or when, or any other variation of inquiry. It was a fact that no one could bring themselves to question. Even their part-timers had learned (some of them the hard way) that some secrets were better left unasked.   
But this didn’t change the fact that Doug would often wonder about it. Virgil was friendly enough to all of the employees, but he had always shown an extra patient side to Doug -for whatever reason was still unknown to him- but even he didn’t have permission to ask such questions. There were things you learned while working at Aperture Café that you never did. One, question the manager, or even look her directly in the eye. Two, deny Virgil his morning coffee. Three, let Wheatley near anything that could possibly be made into a fire hazard or would be served to a customer. And four, never question the mysteries that surrounded the origin of the shop, whether it be to wonder about the owner (a faceless man that even Doug still knew nothing about), or it be to ask about whatever past Virgil and the manager shared.   
Even Wheatley knew not to question those rules.  
“I need two white mochas, large, and do some of that fancy latte art as well,” Rick called, snapping Doug out of his thoughts.   
He made a small huff at the order. Speaking of pretension…  
“And make sure you use the sugar free stuff,” Rick added. “Oh, and she wants the art to be of a puppy or something.”  
“This order is for one person?” Doug asked, wondering if he had misheard Rick earlier.  
“Don’t worry, she’s a regular,” Rick explained. “Can’t spare any expenses on this fine lady.”  
His attention now caught, Doug turned around to see who exactly was this customer.  
The first thing he noticed were her auburn locks, falling delicately against her rosy, freckled cheeks. She gave Doug a grin that could possibly even chip the ice of the manager’s heart.   
“Mel?” he asked, caught somewhere between elation and surprise.   
“Hello Doug,” she greeted, her voice just the right amount of sugar and spice and everything nice. “Long time, no see.”  
A long it had been. Almost four months now. To say that Mel was as much a part of the café as everyone employed there was an understatement. She had been a reliable customer since the beginning, almost never missing a day to come by and order a drink and lighten the atmosphere whenever the environment got too overwhelming. Her and Virgil had been almost inseparable since the beginning, and he still insisted on offering her a full-time job every time she stopped by. Not that it would have been hard for her. Even the manager regarded Mel with a certain level of respect. Doug half believed it had more to do with their mutual relationship (still of a nature Doug was unsure of) to Virgil, more than it did to any amount of business Mel provided them.   
But no amount of persistence on Virgil’s, or even some of the other employees’ parts was enough to convince her of a career change. Mel was well on her way to becoming an Olympic athlete, and trading that to work in the food industry, however sophisticated, didn’t strike her as a step up in life.   
“Long time indeed,” Doug agreed, giving her a welcoming nod. It was good to see her again.  
“How’s the weather down south?” Rick asked, leaning casually against the counter and giving Mel one of his signature crooked grins. Though he knew full well none of his charms worked on her. She didn’t particularly go for his type.  
“Very warm,” Mel responded, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. “Though it was nice two months ago, now it feels like I was right outside of the sun’s front door.”  
“Price you gotta pay to run for America’s greatest,” Rick mused. “When did you get back into town?”  
“Last night,” Mel answered, trying to hide a yawn. “Late.”  
“Explains the two larges,” Rick said, nodding to himself. “Speaking of which, you got those ready yet?”  
“One down,” Doug reported, holding out the first mug for Rick to take.  
“Here you go, miss,” Rick said, passing her the warm beverage.  
Mel took a large sip, clearly not phased by the temperature. “Where’s Virgil?”  
“He’s off this afternoon,” Rick explained. “Usually just works mornings now, actually, since we hired a few college students.”  
“Yes, working, kind of like what you two are supposed to be doing right now,” the manager suddenly interjected, not even acknowledging Mel’s arrival.  
“Gladys! How are you?” Mel asked, her face lighting up at the sight of the manager. Doug thought Mel was the only person who could actually sound happy about seeing the manager without lying between their teeth.  
The manager gave her a sideways glance and a nod as a response. While she might’ve had a degree of respect for Mel, she still didn’t see any need to show outward signs of approval, especially not while she was trying to work. Besides, most people didn’t get away with referring to her by her first name and live to tell the tale. Mel was an exception.  
“And how have you been, Doug?” Mel asked, directing her attention back to the Barista.  
Doug gave her a shrug as a response, still finishing up her second drink. “Same as always,” he responded, feeling a need to give her a verbal response, but not necessarily one that had to be true.  
Mel had known Doug for a long time now, and while not nearly as well as Virgil, still well enough to know when the man was lying. If they had been anywhere else, Mel would have pressed further, but realized that this was probably not the best place for such conversations.   
After her second drink was emptied, Mel got up from the counter. “Well, I’d love to stick around and chat, but I think Gladys would chase me out with a broom if I kept you two from your work any longer,” she said, a giggle threatening to escape her lips.  
“Just as long as you’re back at your regular time,” Rick told her, winking in his perfect way that would have most girls, and some guys, swooning.   
“You can count on me,” Mel assured him, still not taking the bait. “I’ll see you fellows tomorrow. Bye, Gladys!”  
The manager ignored her enthusiastic wave, pretending to be too busy organizing receipts.   
“Well, I’ll be,” Rick said when Mel had left. “We’re gonna have busy early mornings again with Mel back around town.”  
Doug nodded, perhaps as equally happy about it as Rick, but not outwardly showing it to the same degree. At the very least, he now had a stronger motive to get him to work on time. Not just because seeing Mel was always a pleasantry, but because he didn’t think he would survive Virgil’s wrath if he dared disturbed Mel’s morning by showing up to work late.   
Doug shuddered at the mental image.


	7. Chapter Seven

“Traitor!”  
Chell let the front door of café swing closed, staring in surprise at the long, accusing finger pointed in her direction from across the room. It was barely past five in the morning, what could possibly have the lanky chatterbox in such mood so early in the day?  
“What are you going on about now?” Virgil asked, cocking an eyebrow up at Wheatley, giving him only half of his attention while the other focused on the glasses he was drying.  
“Her!” Wheatley exclaimed, still pointing at Chell accusingly. “She dares to show her face in here after the stunt she pulled yesterday? Trying to play innocent, love? Well it’s not going to work, I saw you!”  
Chell slowly walked over to the counter and took her seat, still watching Wheatley warily and eventually directing her attention to Virgil, giving him a helpless look. What had she done, exactly?  
“Why don’t you elaborate a bit,” Virgil suggested, trying to be calm. It was too early for this and he hadn’t even gotten his coffee yet.  
“Yesterday, I thought I would stop by her work in the afternoon,” Wheatley began explaining. “Just pop in to say hello, see how she was doing, make sure the batty old lady hadn’t murdered her or anything. So there I am, on my way just a few blocks out and you know what I see? I see her! Someone I have come to respect! Someone I could have called a friend! I see her coming out of that place, two coffees in hand and a bag more than likely carrying some product of what those people try to pass for pastries!”  
“Wait, wait, stop,” Virgil said, holding up his hands for Wheatley to pause. “That place… you don’t mean… Oh no, Chell, tell me it isn’t true!”  
He turned to her, a look of betrayal on his face so intense Chell couldn’t help but feel genuinely sorry for something she still didn’t understand. She gave him an inquiring look, wanting some sort of explanation. She remembered what Wheatley must have been talking about. Her boss had just wanted her to run down to the nearest coffee shop to pick up some drinks and food for them; she said it was the best place close by.  
Chell took out her pen and notepad and wrote out a note, handing it over to Virgil once it was written. What are you talking about?  
“Listen to me, this is very important that you answer honestly,” Virgil explained, his tone so insistent Chell couldn’t help but feel it was of vital importance. “Now, Wheatley has been known to make mistakes in the past. It’s actually extremely common for him.”  
“Oi! I’m still standing right here!” Wheatley snapped, giving Virgil a cross look.  
“So it’s not entirely out of the question he got something wrong, mistook someone else for you,” Virgil continued, ignoring Wheatley’s protests. Before saying the next sentence, Virgil took a deep breath, his words coming out as if they physically pained him to say. “But did you go into Black Mesa Brewery yesterday?”  
Chell blinked, still not sure what to make of this exchange. The way Virgil said the name of that particular establishment made it sound like if she answered truthfully his reaction would be one she wasn’t sure she wanted to see. Still, Chell couldn’t bring herself to lie and sheepishly shrugged her shoulders, giving Virgil what she hoped to be a very apologetic half-grin.   
With her response, Virgil let his head sink into the counter. “No, no, no… It can’t be…”  
Chell winced. It sounded to her like Virgil was on the brink of some sort of emotional breakdown. She looked up to Wheatley, giving him a pleading look. She didn’t understand what was going on. What had she done wrong?  
“Oh no, don’t give me that look,” Wheatley said, turning away and crossing his arms tightly. “You brought this on yourself, Chell. Don’t even think about looking to me for forgiveness. You’ve sealed your fate, final nail in the coffin, too far gone for any hope now.”  
Chell was starting to get annoyed. She picked up her pad from where Virgil had set it down and tapped it to the man’s head, nearly losing it amongst his thick brown locks.  
Slowly Virgil looked up, his eyes narrowed in a look of disgust. “You fraternized with the enemy! How could you betray us like this?” He was standing up straight again, his shortened height having him at eye level with Chell, despite her sitting down (but on an elevated chair at least).   
Chell responded to this by giving him a look of confusion. Whatever was going on was starting to get a bit out of hand, and they were both responding very childishly to all of this.  
Virgil was about to give a response when they were all interrupted by the sudden ding of the front door being opened. Still being far earlier than Chell had ever seen other customers come in, she turned around in curious anticipation.   
“Good morning!” a bright voice called out into the early morning quiet. A spark of bright hair and a grin sunny enough to illuminate the entire room shifted the atmosphere from one of previous grief to unexpected elation.  
Chell didn’t know this person, but immediately after looking back at the men behind the counter’s expressions, she knew that they knew this person very well.  
Virgil’s expression shifted dramatically. What was once a look of twisted betrayal, hurt, and growing irritation was now replaced by wide eyes and shock so distinct Chell almost felt serious worry for him.  
Wheatley’s eyes kept darting back and forth between Virgil and this woman, the pair of their eyes having met and now locked in a stare.  
“Hello Virgil,” the woman said, a broad grin breaking out across her face, accentuating the rosiness of her cheeks.  
Virgil was quiet as the information of what he was seeing and hearing caught up to him. What happened next Chell had no logical explanation for. One moment he was standing there, rooted to the spot by whatever surprise had slammed into him, and the next he had somehow managed to vault his incredibly short body over the counter in one swift movement and bolted towards the woman. A brief moment of panic flashed in Chell’s mind that he was going to seriously harm her in his haste, but that was quickly squashed when he slammed into her with a fierce hug that barely shifted the woman’s stance. This woman must have been stronger than Chell gave her credit for.  
The moment lasted for quite some time; the two of them locked in a tight embrace, the woman occasionally stroking her fingers through Virgil’s hair. He was just barely tall enough to rest his chin on the woman’s shoulder. Chell would have considered the moment to be sweet if it hadn’t suddenly come to a halt when Virgil broke away and… inexplicably slammed the side of his hand down onto the woman’s head?  
“Ow!” she protested, rubbing the spot instinctively, but by the grin that was still on her face, Chell doubted it hurt that much. It was probably more startling than anything.  
“And just how long have you been back in town?” Virgil questioned, his voice accusing. Gone was the soft side of him that had been hugging her just a moment before.  
“It’s good to see you too,” the woman teased, barely suppressing a giggle.  
“How long?!” he demanded, his voice raising to octaves higher than Chell ever heard from him before. Not that his voice was particularly low to begin with.  
“Uh… two nights ago?” she said, giving him the most innocent smile Chell had ever seen on a human. She had only ever seen such sweetness in puppies and other small animals.  
“Two nights ago?!” Virgil’s voice cracked. “You’ve been in town for an entire day and you haven’t thought to let me know until now?”  
“I stopped by the shop yesterday afternoon but you weren’t here,” the woman pointed out, giving him a disappointed look.  
“We have these things called telephones,” Virgil snapped. “Ever tried using one before?”  
“I thought it would be more fun to make it a surprise,” the woman couldn’t contain her giggles any longer. Something about seeing this small man get so riled up must have been entertaining for her.   
“Fun for who?” Virgil questioned, his voice finally regaining some sense of calm.   
“Fun for me, of course,” the woman responded. “I might have been hoping a little for it to be a bit less fun for you.” A very devious grin crept over her face. Chell couldn’t help but shudder.  
“Mel, you are monster and one of these days you’re going to give me a stress-induced heart attack,” Virgil grumbled, glaring up at her.  
The woman, Mel, only responded with another sweeter-than-sugar grin. “Oh, hello Wheatley!” she said, taking note of the taller man’s presence and walking over to the counter with a skip in her step Chell thought too unreasonable for this early in the morning.  
“Good to see you again, Mel,” Wheatley said, beaming down at her. “Though it would have been just a tad bit nicer if you have given us a little bit of a warning, don’t you think? Would have really saved on the whole, getting-shocked-right-out-of-our-shoes bit, wouldn’t it? Especially poor Virgil here hasn’t even had his morning coffee yet. I swear he’s always wound up so tightly he’s going to explode one day and it will more than likely be your fault.”  
Though his words might have said otherwise, nothing in Wheatley’s tone was the slightest bit accusing.   
“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” Mel apologized, giving Wheatley a genuine look of sympathy. Virgil had once again returned to behind the counter and was looking down at the countertop in mild annoyance, having remembered how he unceremoniously leaped over it earlier. He was going to have to clean it again.   
“Oh! And I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there would be other customers here this early,” Mel quickly said, taking note of Chell for the first time. “If I had known there would be other people here I wouldn’t have come in and caused such a fuss.”  
“Don’t mind her, she’s not a customer,” Virgil spat, giving Chell a harsh look. Chell backed up in her seat, holding up her hands in sign of apology. They still hadn’t explained to her what she did wrong.  
“Virgil, manners!” Mel snapped, pointing an accusing finger in his face.   
“No, he’s right,” Wheatley put in. “She’s not a customer, not even a friend. She’s a filthy backstabbing double agent for the enemy! A fiend of profound proportions! A—a bloody menace! Heartless, cold, monster of a woman!”  
Chell raised an eyebrow at this, clearly offended. Now this was taking things a bit far.   
Mel turned to Chell with a look of genuine confusion. “What on earth did you do?” she asked, her voice much quieter now, as if she were afraid to know the answer. She was now taking a seat at the counter beside Chell, resting her arms on the countertop.  
Chell flung up her arms in mock question. No one had explained anything to her yet!  
“She’s been a regular customer here for some time now,” Virgil began to explain, taking pains to keep his tone level. “Always here at the same time every morning and afternoon, never misses a day. Been going on for about a month now. Wheatley here even helps her find work, and actually succeeds! Doug’s even been slipping her the occasional free drink when the manager isn’t looking. And you know how she repays us?”  
“She goes bloody mental and gives business to Black Mesa Brewery!” Wheatley finishes, his voice cracking.  
“Oh no… Oh honey, you didn’t…” Mel was looking at Chell now with a somber expression, as if she had just given Chell the news that she only had three weeks to live.  
Chell snatched up the pen and notepad off the counter, furiously writing a note and shoving it towards Mel. At least this lady wasn’t responding with the same coldness as the other two.  
“What’s the problem?” Mel read, not even questioning being given a note instead of a verbal response. “Wait, has no one told you?”  
“There’s no way she couldn’t have known,” Virgil explained. “If anyone even bothers to read the signs I put so much effort into making and hanging up around this place, they would have noticed that any half decent customer, no, half decent human being would never step into that place.”  
Chell looked around the shop, just now taking note of some of the posters hanging on the walls. Bold letters among various neat drawings of coffee cups and assorted circular designs, loudly declaring lines such as ‘An apple a day keeps the Black Mesa away’ and ‘Why do drugs when Black Mesa is down the street?’ (In smaller letters underneath) ‘Don’t do drugs, kids!’ These were some of the kinder messages posted.  
“Since they clearly haven’t explained it to you,” Mel began, drawing Chell’s attention back to the people around her. “Aperture Café and Black Mesa Brewery have been in a bit of a… not-so-friendly rivalry ever since both shops opened.”  
“There are certain rules we have in place around here,” Virgil explained, taking over for Mel. “One, don’t question the manager. Two, don’t question the owner. Three, don’t let Wheatley near the goods.”  
“Hey!” Wheatley interjected, but his tone betrayed his offense. He knew the rule was there for a very good reason.  
“Four, you put your heart and soul into this shop,” Virgil continued, ignoring Wheatley altogether. “Your life now revolves around serving it and the customers it brings. And that also means you pour your heart and soul into everything this establishment stands against. You know what those things are? Instant coffee, and Black Mesa.”  
“Essentially, as a committed customer of Aperture Café, stepping foot into Black Mesa Brewery is an act of treason,” Mel concluded.  
Chell looked between the three of them in confusion, waiting for someone to explain the joke that she was clearly not getting. Judging by their expressions, the punch line wasn’t ever going to come.  
“They’re being completely serious,” Mel told her, taking note of the disbelief on Chell’s face. “If I were you I’d find a way to start making up to them now before it gets any worse.”  
Chell had a lot of questions, starting with who exactly was this woman and how she knew so much about the coffeehouse. As far as Chell knew, she wasn’t an employee, unless she had been on vacation for the past month. Judging by the intense work schedules she had seen the others subjected to, she doubted vacation time was something they saw very often.   
Chell gave Wheatley an apologetic smile, making it as sincere as possible. She knew he had a soft spot for her; he couldn’t honestly stay mad at her for long, could he? If she had known going to that place would cause such a fuss with her acquaintances at Aperture Café she would have just walked a couple blocks farther to the next nearest shop.  
“Nope, not going to work, lady,” he said, looking away and shaking his head. Despite his words, his eyes kept darting back to Chell’s face, his hands clenched tightly by his sides.  
Chell’s smile grew softer; she inched forward a little in her seat, making her eyes take on an almost sad look.  
“Don’t fall for it, Wheatley, she’s playing you,” Virgil warned him, well aware of his coworker’s weakness.  
“I’m not falling for it, not even going to acknowledge it,” Wheatley said, his darting eyes betraying him.  
Chell continued giving him this look, inching forward a little more.  
“Be strong, Wheatley,” Virgil cautioned, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder, quite a reach for their remarkable height difference.  
Chell pulled out her pen and pad once more and wrote out a very delicate note, ending the message with a little heart in the corner. I’m sorry.  
“Don’t you dare look at it—” but before Virgil could even finish his sentence Wheatley had picked up the pad and was reading it over, his eyes whipping back and forth between the note and Chell and Virgil. He bit down on his lip. Be strong, be strong, be strong…  
“I can’t do it, I’m sorry!” he cried, giving Virgil a quick apologetic look before pushing his way over to Chell and leaning over the counter, bowing his head in sincere apology towards her.  
“I’m sorry, we all make mistakes! I didn’t mean the whole ‘monster of a woman’ thing, or any of whatever else nonsense I sputtered out, like ‘traitor’ or ‘backstabbing double agent’,” Wheatley spilled out, his words coming out so quickly they started to jumble together. “You-you’re not a traitor, or a—a backstabber! You’re a very kind, very friendly, very—very not monstrous person at all!”  
Chell gave Wheatley a soft pat on the head that was still bent over. It was really hard to stay offended when he was making such a display. She looked at Virgil in triumph, a proud grin breaking out across her face.  
Virgil scowled. “If you ever try something like this again, I swear, you’re never getting a drop of coffee from here anymore. Do you understand, miss?”  
Chell smiled innocently. She had no intention of going through this mess again. Her lesson was learned.


	8. Chapter Eight

“What does this do?”  
“That’s the sink,” Doug explained, doing everything in his power to suppress the sigh that threatened to escape him. “It’s where we get our water and clean things.”  
“Oh, I knew that,” the young new employee said, a nervous giggle forcing itself out of her throat. “And what does this do?”  
“That’s the coffee maker,” Doug told her. “We use it to make our coffee.” He wondered for the tenth time just how this kid got hired. She was still very young, no older than eighteen. Her bright curls bounced around with every little movement she made. The striking resemblance she had to their other young part-timer, Leo, was almost unnerving. That was probably the only reason she was hired in the first place. The manager lacked any softs spots, but no doubt Virgil spoke on Leo’s behalf and convinced her to hire his twin sister, even if she was incompetent to a degree that could almost rival Wheatley.  
And why did she have to ask so many questions?  
“And what about this?” the girl, who’s name was Alice, asked while pointing at Virgil.  
“That is your superior,” Doug patiently responded. And probably the one responsible for you getting a job in the first place, he thought to himself.  
“He’s so small!” Alice exclaimed with a giggle.  
Virgil’s head snapped around to face them. “Who’re you calling small?” he asked, the offense in his voice clearly audible.   
“Why don’t we just focus on learning the basics today?” Doug suggested, trying to keep the very delicate peace. Virgil had been on edge all afternoon and for what reason Doug didn’t dare to ask. He had found it odd that he was put in charge of training their newest coworker, but based on the impatience in which Virgil made the request (more like order) Doug decided any further questioning wasn’t worth the risk.   
But of all people why did it have to be him?  
“And you have very good day, little lady,” Rick said as he handed the young woman at the register her change, his voice so smooth it was a wonder the large man could manage a tone that gentle. Doug watched him with mild annoyance. If you judged superiority by years and experience Doug had the obvious lead over Rick, but the younger man was far better equipped for dealing with social situations, especially when they involved pretty young ladies. Then again, perhaps that was exactly why Virgil wanted Doug to take on this challenge instead of Rick. Not that the younger man ever crossed the line of casual flirting to indirect harassment, but with a face like his coupled with that alluring voice, it could be a bit more distracting than necessary.   
Then again, Rick and Leo were roommates, and there was probably some unspoken rule about him hitting on Leo’s twin. Not that Doug really knew anything about that.  
“Let’s start with coffee,” Doug said, showing Alice how to work the coffeemaker and ground the coffee beans. Aperture Café would never stoop so low as to use pre-packaged ground coffee.  
“Yes sir!” Alice gave him an enthusiastic salute.  
The training itself wasn’t so bad. Doug was glad to discover that Alice was a quick learner and seemed to have a better understanding of how things worked than she let on. She still felt the need, for some reason, to ask him the most arbitrary of questions, half of them not even relating to work at all but seemingly meaningless inquiries of what Doug liked to do on weekends and if he liked cake or not. These questions Doug quickly dismissed by changing the subject to whatever task was at hand.  
“You’re a swell teacher, Dougie,” Alice said with a beaming grin, putting on the finishing touches of one of their seasonal lattes.   
“…Thanks…” he mumbled, not particularly liking the nickname of choice, or really understanding why the compliment was necessary. He was just reciting directions to her, directions that she herself would have to memorize by the end of the week.  
“Can I work with you every day?” she asked, a bit more forceful than Doug really thought was reasonable.  
“The manager makes the schedules,” was his simple reply. The end of her shift couldn’t come fast enough for him.  
“Mr. Virgil, can the manager schedule us to work together every day?” Alice turned to her superior to ask, the few inches she had on him coupled with the almost intense beaming of her eyes was enough to make Virgil shrink back a little.  
“That’s not my call, miss,” Virgil explained, his voice shakier than usual. “And you’re a part-timer. You don’t work every day.”  
Alice pouted. Doug gave Virgil a grateful look. It really would have been better for Rick to take care of this training.   
“Hey Virgil, aren’t the deliveries coming in today?” Rick asked, finishing ringing up another customer.   
“Y-yes, what about it?” Virgil answered a little too quickly. Doug gave him a curious look. Virgil always had a bit of nervous energy, but this was above average, even for him. Come to think of it, every other Thursday on delivery days he behaved the same way. It couldn’t be out of nervous anticipation; dealing with deliveries wasn’t difficult work, only entailing signing off on the order and making sure the back door was opened for the delivery workers to bring in the packages. Most of the desserts and other food items were homemade here in the shop, but certain teas and coffees and other miscellaneous items had to be special ordered.   
“Well, the truck’s out front now,” Rick said, nodding his head in the direction of the front windows.  
“What?!” Virgil almost jumped out of his skin. He suddenly started busying himself with straightening out his clean white shirt and fidgeting with the straps of his apron. His hands moved on to try and flatten out his messy hair, tightening what unruly strands he could pull back into a ponytail. After realizing what he had done he looked down at his hands in dismay. He was going to have to wash them now.   
“Everything alright, butterscotch?” Rick asked, looking down at Virgil with obvious amusement. Did Rick know something Doug didn’t?  
“Don’t call me that!” Virgil snapped. He was about to argue further when the familiar ding of the bell from the front door opening sounded off. Failing to suppress a small squeak, Virgil’s eyes darted over to the man entering the shop.  
He was tall and had neatly slicked back dark hair, walking with almost a casual swagger. His work uniform was freshly ironed and a small rainbow band could be seen tied around his wrist.  
With every step the man took towards the counter Virgil seemed to lose a little more of his reserve. When he reached the counter the man slid a clipboard and pen towards Virgil.  
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the man said with a smooth voice that could rival Rick’s. “Manager here today?”  
Virgil made no response other than to gape at the man as if dumbfounded. Rick discretely kicked his shin, waking him from his stupor.  
“Oh, y-yes right,” Virgil stammered trying to get his words together. “I mean no, no she is not in today, my apologies. I’ll be able to sign of for her, though.”  
“Wonderful,” he picked up the pen and held it out for Virgil to take.  
“R-right,” Virgil gingerly took the pen and signed his name along the dotted line.  
“Many thanks, gorgeous,” with a flourish the man took the clipboard and pen back, giving what appeared to Doug as a particularly friendly smile to Virgil.   
If Virgil’s face had turned any redder Doug would have called for an ambulance. Virgil made some sort of attempt at a reply, but it only came out in unintelligible sputters. The man either didn’t notice or didn’t think much of it, because he simply carried on as if nothing were wrong.  
“We’ll start unloading everything in the back. Does that work for you?” he asked, that same smile still being worn on his face.  
“I-I’ll go unlock the door…” Virgil stammered, quickly putting his head down and marching off through to the back of the shop. As soon as Virgil had retreated behind the door the deliveryman gave Rick and Doug a polite nod and a wave and went out the front door from which he came.  
Doug slowly directed his attention to Rick. “What was that about?”  
Rick rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion that made Doug a little irritated. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, kid.”  
“Mr. Virgil has a crush,” Alice squeaked from behind Doug. He jumped a little at her sudden response; he had almost forgotten she was there.   
Doug raised an eyebrow at this. He looked back over at Rick, who was nodding in affirmation.  
“Keep it on the down low,” Rick cautioned. “Virgil finds out we’re talking about his personal life we’re not gonna hear the end of it for two months. And I don’t know about you, but I like not having extra clean up duties to take care of.”  
Doug considered Rick’s words and nodded in agreement. Teasing Wheatley was one thing. Teasing himself was also within the perimeters of acceptable. But teasing Virgil, at least to any remarkable degree -and personal life was a very remarkable degree- was practically a sentence to death. The only thing worse would be to directly tease the manager, and no one who had ever attempted such a feat lived to tell the tale.   
“Does he get cranky easily?” Alice asked, her never-ending curiosity always finding new questions to ask.  
“Not only that, but he has the power to invoke punishment on anyone he pleases,” Rick explained. “So if I were you, I’d leave the conversation alone before he comes back in here.”  
Several minutes later when Virgil returned, Alice had already either forgotten or simply ignored Rick’s warning.  
“Mr. Virgil, do you have the hots for that delivery guy?” she asked, her voice so innocent one would think she was asking him about the weather.  
Virgil’s face had finally returned to its standard brown complexion only to once again grown red.   
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he responded, his voice doing a better job at showing a sense of calm than his countenance. “And if you have time to stand around asking pointless questions, you have time to sweep out the back. Several pairs of dirty shoes just walked through there and we are not having dirt cemented into the tiles.”  
“But I’m in the middle of training!” Alice whined, taking a noticeable step closer to Doug. He matched her movements with an equal step in the opposite direction of her.  
“No better way to train than to do the most undesirable of jobs,” Virgil told her. Pointing towards the door and with a look of finality on his face, he added, “Now go.”  
Pouting, Alice did as she was told and retreated behind the back swinging door. Doug couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Finally, peace and quiet.  
“You have to admit, she asked a valid question,” Rick pointed out, doing the exact opposite of what he had just warned his coworkers not to do. He was a much braver man than Doug.  
“There are plenty of toilets that could use some cleaning,” Virgil threatened.  
“Someone’s gotta man the register,” Rick reminded him, a look of satisfaction spreading across his face.  
“Ask one more useless question and I’ll make sure you work morning shifts with Wheatley for a week,” Virgil stated, the finality in his voice clearly ending the conversation.  
Rick was a brave man, but even that threat didn’t go without consideration.   
The three returned to silence, only speaking when customers desired attention or when orders needed to be relayed. The afternoon would have continued in relative peace, Doug thought, if it weren’t for one simple fact.  
Rick didn’t know how to back down.  
“So you gave him your number, right?”  
Virgil’s retribution spread to every employee that evening. Rick, confined to cleaning bathrooms and the underside of unoccupied tables, and Doug to manning the register while simultaneously keeping an eye on their ever-babbling trainee.  
The rest of the night could not have gone any slower.


	9. Chapter Nine

The afternoon had been such a perfect afternoon. Chell got off work early that day, and her employer actually didn’t yell at her as much as she normally did. Chell had plenty of time between then and closing hours to stop by the coffeehouse and get lost in a new good book that she knew would be waiting for her in her usual spot. She had even managed to escape an hour long one sided conversation with Wheatley, which Chell was hesitant to admit that they weren’t as mind-numbing as they had used to be, but still weren’t her idea of a good time. He had called out to her when she entered the shop and Chell responded with a friendly wave but made no further attempts at socializing. She was sure he would be a little disappointed by this, but for now Chell just wanted to sit in relative silence and peace. Besides, she was going to be here for a while, and she could make it up to him later.  
Not that she actually cared too much if she hurt his feelings. She definitely didn’t care one bit. Not in the slightest.   
Barely even ten minutes after she had sat down did the barista Chell knew to be the one always leaving her books came and brought her the same coffee he brought her every time she came in the afternoon, always free of charge.  
As always, no words were said between them. Only a brief smile, a nod, and the barista awkwardly shuffling back to his workplace were exchanged. Chell realized she had never actually interacted with this particular employee before, aside from these brief exchanges. She didn’t even know his name like she did with so many of the others now. Why did he always leave her books to read? Why did he always bring her coffee? She wanted to ponder this further, but decided to leave these mysteries to be solved another time. Turning back to the book in her hands, Chell settled in and continued diving in to the story. 

“Did you know coffee actually causes cancer?”  
“Really? I had no idea,” Virgil said, barely paying his coworker any attention as he read over an order. “Doug, quit running around and take care of this,” as Doug approached the counter Virgil held out the slip of paper to him with the customer’s order of a specialty latte and pastry written down.  
“Did you know lead pencils can cause cancer too?” the man went on, carefully adjusting his pink-rimmed glasses so that they rested higher up on his nose.   
“No, Craig, I didn’t,” Doug said only in passing, quickly shuffling by him to start on the drink order. “Heat up one of those chocolate croissants, would you?”  
Craig did as he was told and continued prattling on. “Chocolate probably has some cancerous side effects as well, just so you know.”  
“And where did you learn all of this?” Virgil questioned, waiting for his answer with anticipation. Craig was a smart man, a good student too, if Rick and Leo’s assessments were to be trusted. However, their part-timer had one fatal flaw, and that was he had a tendency to be unreasonably gullible.   
“Web MD, of course,” Craig answered, as if that were proof enough to validate his statements.   
“Craig, you know you can’t believe everything you read off the internet,” Virgil explained, as if he were talking to a child.  
“But it’s a medical website, and therefore it cannot lie to us,” Craig countered, believing himself to have already won the discussion. “You remember when Leo got sick a few weeks ago? And I looked his symptoms up online and Web MD said he was dying? So we took him to the emergency room and as it turned out I was right.”  
“Leo had pneumonia,” Virgil pointed out. “It wasn’t exactly hard for anyone to figure that out.”  
“But the fact still stands that I was right,” Craig reiterated. “Also, there is a very gangly and very worried looking Wheatley coming this way. You might want to take this, Virgil.”  
Virgil spun around faster than any of them could blink, just in time to see Wheatley crash against the edge of the counter, his breath coming out in huffs and his flailing arms nearly knocking over a customer’s drink.  
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he managed to get out as the customer gave him a dark look. “Bit of a crisis happening, but nothing at all to worry about, please carry on with whatever it you were doing.”  
“What’re you going on about?” Virgil questioned, turning to the now cross customer and making his own apologies, much more sincere in nature than Wheatley’s own.   
“Well, you see, I was just doing a bit of cleaning, some sweeping up like you always like me to do every so often, and I could very well be wrong, wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m sure I saw something… moving underneath one of the end tables upstairs,” Wheatley stammered, pointing in the direction of the second floor of the coffeehouse, a more quiet sitting area with plush couches and low tables where customers would often come to hold book group meetings and other small get-togethers.   
Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “When you say ‘something’, what exactly do you mean by that?”  
Wheatley gave a nervous laugh. “Well, bear with me, but it might have been something… small and fluffy? Couldn’t get a better look, to be honest. Ran down here as soon as I caught sight of it. Thought it would be best to let you know about it before—”  
His sentence was cut off by a sudden scream from upstairs. Before Virgil had the chance to react a large fluffy white cat darted down the stairs, swerving sharply to the right (nearly causing a man to trip to avoid stepping on it), and in two swift movements jumped from the floor to the counter and then directly at Doug’s face.  
The commotion that followed was a mixture somewhere between fear, disgust, and general excitement. Most of the customers had erupted in simultaneous ‘awes’ but there were a handful that responded with less kind reactions.   
Virgil’s, however, was by far the most ridiculous.  
“What the hell is that doing here?!” he cried, his voice peaking a near shriek and his small frame managed to jump onto the counter, pulling his knees close to his chest all while trying to position himself as far away from the cat as possible in his current stance.  
The cat, which was far larger and fluffier than its position should have allowed, was skittishly attempting to hold onto Doug’s shoulders, all while hiding behind his head from the annoying shrieking little man huddled cowardly on the counter.  
Doug’s eyes darted around the room, very aware of the many sets of eyes now fixed on him and the cat attempting to make a hiding place in his hair. The hushed voices and frequent pointing were impossible to miss and left Doug with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.  
“Could we… talk about this later?” he asked, trying to pry the cat off his shoulders and hold it in a somewhat more reasonable manner.  
“Did you bring a damn cat into the shop?!” Virgil’s voice came out as a piercing hiss, any composure he normally possessed lost in his current apparent fear.   
“I have a very good explanation,” Doug tried to argue, but knew it was a losing battle.  
“Do you, now?” Virgil’s tone dripped with skepticism. The cat shifted in Doug’s arms, attempting to get a better look at him and Virgil shrank back even further, a faint whimper escaping him.  
Doug was about to give a response, but after thinking it over closed his mouth tightly. There were too many people watching, too many pairs of eyes looming over him, making the room feel smaller than its generous size would present.   
“Okay, show’s over, nothing to see here, absolutely nothing to worry about in the slightest,” Wheatley’s voice suddenly cut through the silence, addressing the on-looking customers. “Craig, could you possibly take care of things out here for a bit?” he asked, his voice quieter now as he shifted his attention to his coworker.  
“Did you know I am an expert at ‘taking care of things’? Because I am,” Craig said, folding his arms confidently across his chest.  
“That’s great, wonderful,” Wheatley turned his attention now to Virgil, who was still eyeing the cat with such intensity Wheatley half expected the cat to be the one to shrink back in fear. “Why don’t we go discuss this in the back, yeah? Less of an audience back there than there is out here. Much more ideal for… um, handling such situations, don’t you think?”  
Slowly, and with no shortage of shaking knees and fearful glances in the cat’s direction, Virgil got off the counter and sidestepped his way to the door leading into the back of the shop. Wheatley ushered Doug to follow with the cat, gave Craig a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and followed the two other men inside.  
Once the door was closed and Virgil was certain they were a bit more out of earshot of the customers, he turned on Doug. “Why the hell did you bring a cat into the shop?!” he hissed, his voice still of a higher pitch than was normal for him.   
“She had nowhere else to go,” Doug explained, feeling a good deal more at ease now that the only eyes fixed on him were those of Virgil and Wheatley and the cat in his arms.  
“Oh, it’s a she, is it?” Virgil asked, his tone somewhat mocking.   
“Most animals have genders, mate,” Wheatley pointed out, an obvious note of pride in his voice from having something to correct Virgil on for once.  
“I know that!” Virgil snapped, taking his eyes off the cat just long enough to glare up at Wheatley and then resting his head in his hands to massage his temples.   
“Explain, Doug. Now,” Virgil’s tone was quieter, but still just as stern.  
“My landlord was getting suspicious,” Doug began, hesitating for a moment. “I couldn’t leave her alone at home during the day.”  
“Why are you keeping a pet if they aren’t allowed?” Virgil questioned.  
“She is allowed,” Doug countered. “Or rather, she’s supposed to be… He won’t listen to me when I try to explain.”  
“Is she a therapy pet?” Virgil asked, his voice softening a bit.  
Doug just gave a nod as a response.  
Virgil sighed, letting his head fall into his hands again. “Look, you can’t just bring an animal into a business that sells food,” Virgil explained, his tone returning to its former sternness. “Do you realize how many health and safety codes we’re breaking at this very moment? Far more than I’m willing to count.”  
“She’s up to date on all of her shots,” Doug argued, a little defensively.  
“That doesn’t matter! People don’t like having cats running around when they’re trying to enjoy their coffee and cakes in peace!” Virgil snapped.  
“Actually, most of the customers seemed pretty elated to me,” Wheatley put in. “I mean, aside from that first lady who did all that screaming. Don’t think she was much of a cat person, didn’t give off that vibe to me. And then there was the grouchy lady sitting at the counter. Pretty sure the cat actually knocked over her coffee. Livid, she looked. But you know aside from that I’d wager everyone else looked pretty much entertained, or at least pleasantly surprised.”  
The look Virgil gave to him was enough to shut Wheatley up.  
“I need a place to keep her until things calm down,” Doug continued, getting the conversation back on track.  
“There are vets for things like that,” Virgil pointed out. “You know, those little pet hotel things. Really anything would be suitable other than your place of work.”  
“I can’t afford something like that,” Doug argued, knowing that Virgil would know this good and well.   
“And I can’t afford having the shop closed down because someone brought a cat in here!” Virgil said, his voice rising a little again.  
“Oh, I know! Idea! I have an idea!” Wheatley quickly added before either of them could cut him off. “How about one of us takes care of her until Doug get things sorted?”  
“You let that cat anywhere closer to me and no one will be able to find its body,” Virgil seethed. Judging by his tone, he truly meant it.  
“…Okay so don’t let Virgil keep it,” Wheatley said. “I could take her. I love cats. Well, I don’t mind them, at least. Only mildly allergic, nothing too major or life threatening, though.” He made a move to reach out and pet the cat that had been resting contently in Doug’s arms only to pull his hand back with a yelp when she suddenly swiped at him with outstretched claws, claiming a bit of skin in the process.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Doug suggested as Wheatley quickly scrambled back behind Virgil, now giving the cat a look of distaste and fear and he cradled his now bleeding hand against his chest.  
Just then the back room door swung open, causing them all to jump. “Craig, I told you to-Oh, Chell? What are you doing back here?” Virgil questioned, straightening up and trying to look a little less nervous than he had been a moment before.  
Chell had seen the entire event play out, and only cost her a few minutes of listening to Craig chatting before getting him to agree to let her behind the counter and into the back room. She eagerly walked forward until she was standing just a few inches away from Doug and the cat, looking down at her with wide eyes and an unusual grin creeping over her face.  
Doug took a few steps back out of habit, always preferring to keep some level of distance between himself and others. And based on how things had just gone with Wheatley a moment earlier, he didn’t want Chell getting too close to the cat. But before he could make any other forms of objections, Chell reached out her hand and began petting the cat affectionately.   
To everyone’s surprise, the cat leaned her head into Chell’s hand, purring lightly as Chell soothingly scratched behind her ears.  
“I… I think she likes you…” Doug said, keeping his eyes fixed on his cat and far away from Chell’s own eyes.   
“Aha!” Wheatley jumped forward, his prior fear seeming to dissipate. “Here’s an even better idea. A brilliant idea! Why don’t you let Chell take care of her for a while?”  
Doug and Chell’s eyes went wide, followed by fervent shakings of his head from Doug.   
“No, but look! She likes her! The little monster didn’t take very kindly to me but she has no problem with Chell here at all. It’s a perfect solution, wouldn’t you say? And Chell, I know, springing this on you all of sudden; not very polite of me at all. But you like cats, right? Well, at least you seem to like cats, judging by your, um, insistent petting that’s happening here. And it should only be a few days, yes? Maybe a week at most? Isn’t that right, Doug?” Wheatley looked over to Doug with a hopeful expression.  
Doug didn’t immediately answer, feeling rather unnerved now that Chell was staring at him along with everyone else. “It could be longer…” he eventually pointed out.  
“Well okay maybe a little more than a week but that’s not so much a problem, now is it?” Wheatley prattled on. “Come on, Chell! What do you say?”  
Chell had been methodically petting the cat the whole while, the grin on her face only broadening at Wheatley’s suggestion. When he concluded his proposal she nodded excitedly, no words needing to be used to express her answer.   
“Brilliant! See, problem solved,” Wheatley said, feeling rather proud of himself. “Well Doug, how do these arrangements sound to you?”  
“It’s not necessary, really…” Doug started, braving a quick glance in Chell’s direction. Before he could finish the thought Chell shook her head quickly. She pointed to the cat, who was now closing her eyes and drifting off into a contented sleep, and then back at herself and nodded assuredly.   
“Really, you don’t need to go through the trouble,” Doug went on, not giving in so easily.  
“Oh, would someone just take the cat and get it out of here already?” Virgil snapped, his patience finally waning completely. “I don’t care who takes it, just get it out of the shop before the manager gets in!”  
At Virgil’s mention of the manager, a sense of urgency fell over the room. Doug nodded in agreement, deciding to relent to Chell’s insisting reaches for the cat and carefully handing her over. The cat made no complaints as she was transferred into Chell’s arms, her sheer amount of white fluff nearly covering Chell’s face as she tried to adjust the cat into a more comfortable position.  
“What’s her name, anyways?” Wheatley asked, chancing another attempt at petting her before recoiling his hand when she made a warning hiss in his direction.  
“Cube,” Doug responded, pointing to the heart-shaped tag attached to the barely visible pink collar mostly buried beneath her fur.  
Wheatley, Chell, and Virgil all looked at Doug with equally confused expressions.  
“…What?” Doug asked, genuinely confused by their puzzled looks.  
“Don’t ask questions, just go with it,” Wheatley whispered into Chell’s ear, making it hard for her to hold back the giggle that threatened to escape.   
“It won’t be for too long, I promise,” Doug added, feeling a need to give Chell some sort of apology for the position she had suddenly been thrown in.  
Chell shook her head, as if to tell him to not worry about it. She was already growing quite content with the soft fluffy animal falling asleep in her arms.   
Doug sighed, a look of relief coming over his face. “Thank you,” he said, giving Chell a small warm smile.  
Chell returned it with one of her own. All in all, it had been a very perfect afternoon.


	10. Chapter Ten

It was too early. Today was supposed to be Wheatley’s one morning off, but due to a series of painfully unkind circumstances he found himself in the shop at the bright hour of half past four in the morning, lined up against the counter with the rest of his fellow employees, staring into the hard cold eyes of their manager. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until after one in the morning, and with his commute and the unusually high necessity to take extra care with his morning hygiene, Wheatley had barely managed an hour and a half of sleep at all. Standing up straight and appearing attentive to his manager’s words were a struggle enough, let alone getting through the events this day held.   
Oh, how Wheatley missed his bed.  
“Moron!” a sharp voice snapped, cutting through the sleep that still held Wheatley’s attention.  
“Yes manager!” he responded, standing noticeably taller and making his best effort to look her in the eyes. She hadn’t been talking to him this whole time, had she?  
“Repeat back to me what I just told you,” the manger’s words were like ice digging into his skin.  
“Y-you said, um… well… Something about… No don’t tell me, don’t tell me! I’ll have it in a moment! You told me to-to, um—”  
“Run the register, just as you do here,” the manager explained, her patience obviously wearing thin. “I would think that information would have made it through to you, considering that’s what you do here every day, but I suppose I was wrong to expect so much brain power out of you.”  
Wheatley opened his mouth to argue but shut it immediately when he saw the look the manager gave him. Her intention was clear: speak and he would have to find another job.  
“You, repeat back to me your job for today,” the manager said, moving away from Wheatley to now face Rick who stood next to him.  
“Sweet-talking the customers and getting them to buy as many goods as possible,” Rick reported back, his voice far too smooth and collected for this hour of the day.  
“And you?” the manager asked, moving on down the line to Leo, who had unfortunately been forced into this nightmare even though he was only a part-timer.  
“Make all the coffee!” he cheered in such a bright manner that Wheatley questioned whether or not he had already drank all the coffee they had.  
“You?” the manager continued on, facing their newest recruit, Alice.  
“Make sure all the pastries stay warm and fresh in the great outdoors!” she responded with a salute, her optimism matching her twin’s far too well.  
The manager moved to face Craig, who answered her question before she even got the chance to ask.  
“Watch carefully over Wheatley’s shoulder to make sure he’s counting the money correctly and doesn’t lose anything,” he said in his usual bored tone, a yawn threatening to escape him.  
“Hey! I don’t need someone to babysit me!” Wheatley argued, forgetting his manners in his tiredness. Not that he would have held back on such a remark on any other day, but today was a very serious day, and starting a fuss in front of the manager was never a smart choice to make.  
It took only one stern glare from the manager to shut Wheatley up.  
She moved on, facing Doug now. “Your job?”  
“Helping with coffee and making sure it’s presentable,” Doug answered, fighting back a yawn of his own. It was obvious he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than Wheatley, and was doing just as poor a job of hiding it.  
Lastly, the manager stood before Virgil. “I trust you’re aware of your responsibilities today,” she stated, an expectant look in her eyes.  
“Take orders and keep customers happy,” Virgil said with confidence, not a trace of tiredness on his face. “I’m to give them a reason to want to choose us over the competition.”  
“Very good,” the manager praised, her approval of Virgil’s readiness was clear on her face.   
“Um, Miss Manager?” Alice asked, raising her hand a little sheepishly. It was obvious the manager scared the poor girl, but not enough to keep her unyielding peppiness at bay.  
“Yes?” the manager asked, sounding impatient.  
“What exactly is happening today? I think I missed that bit…” Alice admitted sheepishly, looking down at her feet.  
For a moment Wheatley thought the manager was going to snap, but instead she just let her head drop into her hands, exasperated.  
“Today is the most important day of Aperture Café’s existence,” the manager explained. “Every year the city holds a bake sale for local charities and every year there is a reward for whichever business sells the most goods and raises the most money. There has not been a single year during our existence so far that Black Mesa Brewery has beaten us and I don’t plan to let it ever happen. If we aren’t on full alert and prepared for every possible scenario, we won’t stay ahead. And failure is not an option.”  
Wheatley gulped. The stakes were higher than ever. Not only was their title and honor at stake, but also Black Mesa Brewery had recently gained popularity, despite it being an older company, and everyone knew this made the manager antsy. She couldn’t stand the thought of the other coffeehouse getting ahead of them and if they didn’t hold their title today in the bake sale life would be over for every single Aperture employee, because there was no way the manager would forgive them for failing.   
“So what’s the reward?” Alice asked, her stream of questions knowing no end.  
“Dignity,” the manager said with finality. “There is no greater reward than this.”  
“Don’t worry about it, Miss,” Rick said casually. “The Brewery’s never beaten us before and sure as hell ain’t gonna start now.”  
“I expect nothing less from all of you,” the manager responded, and by the glow in her eyes Wheatley almost felt as if she meant it with sincerity. 

Chell had never had a Saturday off before. Ever since moving into the city she had spent every day searching endlessly for jobs, and when she finally got one with the antique store she had worked almost nonstop in order to prove her value to the strict shop owner. Now that she had the current responsibility of watching over a cat, her boss softened ever so slightly enough to give her two days off from work each week in order to better take care of until it was safe to be returned to her owner. Chell had already spent most of the day before watching over the cat, playing with it incessantly as the cat seemed to have high needs of attention, so she decided to give herself the morning off to come the park downtown in order to see the event that was taking place.  
It was a bake sale. Chell had thought she saw signs for it around town, but couldn’t quite place where exactly she had seen them. The coffeehouse perhaps? Upon further inspection her assumptions were proven true; the deep blue aprons and slate grey circular logo on the front worn by the numerous workers around one of the many bake sale booths were hard for Chell to not recognize, considering the amount of time she spent in that very café.   
Her curiosity piqued, Chell decided to approach for further inspection.   
“Well I’ll be, if isn’t the fairest lady of them all,” Rick called out to her as Chell approached the booth; his crooked grin worn proudly across his face. “And what can I do you for, miss Chell?”  
Chell looked around the booth curiously, seeing their usual stock of pastries and treats spread out in an orderly display.   
Something new caught her eye. She pointed to the large cake plate standing proudly in the center of their booth, the cake held inside covered in chocolate shavings and topped with cherries and whipped cream. She gave Rick a curious look. Chell had never seen a cake like that before in the shop.  
“That, miss Chell, is our very special black forest cake,” Rick explained. “Secret recipe known only by the manager herself. Even Virgil doesn’t know how to make the thing. It’s our signature item but we rarely have it in stock as it’s not easy to get a hold of all of the needed ingredients, or at least that’s what the managers says.”  
“And the manager is right you know,” a familiar cold voice said from somewhere behind Rick.  
“That she is, that she is,” Rick said quickly, casually recovering his composure. “If that’s what you’re after, one slice’ll be ten dollars.”  
Chell’s eyes went wide. She might not have been from around this area, but she was pretty sure that was an overpriced slice of cake.  
“Hey, don’t give me that look. It’s for charity,” Rick pointed out.  
“Not to mention the taste is worth the price,” Virgil added, coming up beside Rick. “I do highly recommend.”  
Chell hesitated. She really couldn’t afford something like that, and she wasn’t sure cake was entirely worth it.  
“Give me two slices then. One for me and one for her,” came a chipper voice from behind Chell. When she turned around Chell broke out into a smile at the sight of the redheaded woman walking up to the booth.  
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Virgil scolded Mel, turning and snapping his fingers to the young blond girl behind the booth with them to cut their slices of cake.  
“I would have come sooner but I didn’t want to show up all smelly after my morning run,” Mel argued, trying to hide the giggle that threatened to escape her.  
“You could have bought a smoothie to cool down!” Leo called from where the coffee maker was set up, apparently working on a complicated order since Doug was looking over his shoulder the whole time to make sure he got it right.  
“I didn’t know you could make smoothies out here,” Mel remarked.  
“Don’t underestimate us so easily, Mel,” Virgil said, wagging his finger at her.   
“Then I’ll take a smoothie as well,” Mel said with a smile. “Strawberry, if you please.”  
“Smoothie coming right up!” Leo said, beginning to run off for the ingredient but held back by Doug’s firm grasp on his collar.  
“Finish your current order first,” Doug instructed him.  
“But this is Mel’s order!” Leo argued.  
Doug gave the kid a stern look. Leo shrank back a little and continued on with his current order.   
“So, how’s that cat doing?” Rick asked, handing the two plates of cake to Mel and Chell once Alice finished cutting their slices.  
At the mention of his cat Doug perked up, turning curiously to see Chell’s response.  
Chell gave Doug a smile and a nod, assuring him that everything was going well. Though the cat was far more demanding than she had expected, she enjoyed her company.   
Doug was relieved to see this. “It shouldn’t be much longer,” he said quickly. “Another week at most?”  
Chell shook her head, touching the thumb of her opened right hand against her chest a few times in the sign for ‘it’s fine’. She wasn’t sure he actually understood any signing at all, but from the reassured look on his face it was clear her meaning got across.   
“Try some of the cake,” Mel said, nudging Chell’s arm with her elbow slightly.  
“Yes, do try the cake,” the manager coaxed, stepping forward with interest. Her gaze made Chell feel uneasy, as if she were about to be graded based on her reaction to tasting the cake, and the punishment for a disappointing response would be catastrophic.  
“You’ll probably want these,” Virgil added, holding out forks for the two of them.  
Chell took the fork and stared down at her cake. It definitely looked appetizing, but something about it made her feel a little sick to her stomach. However, she decided to ignore those feelings and took a well-sized bite.   
“Well?” Virgil asked, clearly anticipating her response.  
Chell took a moment to savor the taste before nodding excitedly to them. She had never cared much for cake but decided she could make an exception here. It was one of the best foods she had ever tasted.  
“Of course she likes it; I made it, after all,” the manager stated, giving Chell a small approving look. It came across as somewhat forced, but Chell believed there was some sincerity behind it.   
“Alright Mel, pay up,” Virgil said, jerking his head in the direction of the register sitting at the end of the booth. Sitting down behind it was a half-asleep Wheatley, awkwardly resting his head against the register’s casing while Craig stood over him, occasionally poking Wheatley’s head with a pencil.  
“Oi, wake up!” Virgil snapped, walking over to them and smacking Wheatley on the head with his notepad. Wheatley jerked upright, nearly knocking over the register in the process.  
“I’m up, I’m up!” he exclaimed, startled. “I wasn’t sleeping I was just… quietly observing.”  
“With your eyes closed?” Virgil questioned.  
“I was listening for the enemy,” Wheatley corrected. “You know how it goes. The ears work better when the eyes aren’t in the way and all that. Clever, I know. No need to thank me.”  
“If I catch you sleeping on the job again you’re not going to have eyes left to close at all,” the manager threatened, the steely tone of her voice returning.   
“U-understood, Miss!” Wheatley said quickly, attempting to straighten up even taller than he was already.  
“You have customers to ring up,” Virgil told him, stepping back to his own post.  
“Chell, Mel, lovely to see you two today,” Wheatley said, his eyes clearly lighting up at the sight of them. Chell almost felt that his eyes lingered on her a moment longer, but decided it was probably her imagination.  
“Did you not get any sleep last night?” Mel asked, her voice sounding genuinely concerned.  
“Oh who has time for sleeping when there’s work to be done? Especially on such an important day as this,” Wheatley explained, assuming a posture of mock confidence. Chell saw right through it, as did everyone else.  
“Well, keep up the good work,” Mel said, giving him a patient smile and handing him a twenty.  
“Will the two of you hang around to see the winner?” Wheatley asked, a little hopeful.  
“You bet I am!” Mel said enthusiastically. “What do you say, Chell?”  
Chell shrugged her shoulders and nodded. She shouldn’t stay out too long, the cat was likely getting very lonely, but it was a beautiful day and she hadn’t gotten a chance to spend time outside in a while. A few hours couldn’t hurt.  
“Brilliant!” Wheatley cheered.  
“But they’re not staying here and distracting you any longer,” the manager cautioned, giving Mel and Chell a harsh look.  
“Oh Gladys, you don’t have to be so uptight,” Mel whined dramatically.   
“You’ve already wasted five minutes of my subordinates’ time,” the manager said. “Actually no, make that six minutes now. That’s one more minute of my valuable time we’ll never get back, you know.”  
“I’m still waiting on my drink,” Mel pointed out.  
“It’s done,” Doug called from behind the booth holding it out for Rick to take and hand to Mel.  
“Good, you have your beverage. Now get out of our way,” the manager ordered.  
Mel sighed. “Yes, your Majesty. Come on, Chell, let’s take a walk.” She linked her free hand with Chell’s and began to pull her along. Chell offered them a final smile of good luck and followed after Mel.  
Wheatley waved goodbye to them as they walked away. There were still three hours left until the bake sale officially ended. Noon couldn’t come any sooner…

“See? There was nothing to worry about!”  
“I wasn’t worried,” the manager snapped, giving Virgil an offended look that didn’t quite meet the satisfaction in her eyes.  
“You were a little worried,” Virgil said, trying to hide a smile.  
“Black Mesa Brewery is a pathetic excuse for a coffeehouse; I had no worries about them outdoing us today,” the manager argued.  
“Poor suckers never stood a chance,” Rick said. “They weren’t even close to making as much as we raked in today.”  
“That’s because they don’t have a leader as fearless and resourceful as ours,” Craig added, beaming up at the manager.  
“Or as terrifying…” Wheatley added in a softer voice, hoping the manager wouldn’t hear him.  
“A job well done to you all,” the manager announced, addressing them all now just outside of their packed-up booth and holding up their winner ribbon proudly. “But just because we’ve achieved another successful year doesn’t meant you are allowed any chance to relax. Relaxation leads to slacking off, and slacking off means no more jobs, so don’t slack off.”  
“Yes manager,” they all said in haphazard unison.  
“Now get these boxes to the car. And if I find any scratches or dings to the car, boxes, or contents inside, the cost of repairs will be taken out of your salary,” she commanded, every employee stepping into action at the snap of her fingers.  
While the others preoccupied themselves with carrying their goods back to the company vehicle Virgil stopped to watch the others work, stepping to the side with the manager.  
“Admit it; you’re proud of them,” he hummed quietly.  
“I’ll admit no such thing,” the manager said in an even tone.  
“Not even to me?” Virgil asked.  
“Everything said to you magically ends up in Mel’s ears and everything said to her is shared with everyone in her proximity, so no, not even to you,” the manager confirmed.  
Virgil sighed. “That’s alright. You don’t have to admit anything to me. I already know what you’re thinking, anyways.”  
The manager huffed at this.  
There was a moment of shared silence as the two of them watched the others run about and putting things away.  
“Shouldn’t you be making sure that moron doesn’t break any of my equipment?” the manager eventually commented.  
Virgil laughed. “Whatever you say, Miss.” He began walking toward the others to join in but stopped first to turn back to the manager.  
“Well done, Manager. You’ve earned it.”  
Virgil didn’t see the faint smile that spread across the manager’s face when he turned around to leave her alone. He didn’t need to see it to know it was there.


	11. Future Chapters

I’m thinking about where I want to go with the next chapters of Aperture Café and I’m wanting to get more into the meat of the world.

This translates to I want to dig deeper into the backstories of the characters, which is going to mean the story will take on a more serious tone as opposed to the lighthearted tone it’s had so far.

What I want to know: is this something you guys would be interested in? I’m asking mostly because I started Aperture Café not so much because it was a clear story I needed to tell but because the concept intrigued me and ultimately I wanted to create this world for all of you. So your opinion really matters to me. Do you guys like the kind of episodic, easy-going atmosphere, or would you rather plunge deeper into the inner workings of the world and possibly face some sad/mildly angsty scenarios?

To me both are just as enjoyable to write for this story. Any thoughts or opinions or words of encouragement would be really appreciated!


	12. Chapter Eleven

There were some days when Wheatley spoke far too much. And then there were some days when Virgil could have sworn Wheatley never stopped speaking. And even worse there were some days when Virgil could no longer distinguish between Wheatley’s incessant rambles and his own thoughts.  
Today was one of those latter days.  
“Wheatley,” Virgil finally interrupted, allowing for the first moment of silence in what he could only guess had been an hour at least. “You didn’t happen to have coffee today, did you?”  
“Coffee? Coffee?! Are you actually asking if I’ve had coffee?!” Wheatley’s voiced raised to an octave even Virgil couldn’t manage. “What do I look like to you? Some sort of bloody… coffee drinker? I am offended! I am aghast that you would even consider asking me such a question! I thought we were friends! I thought we had come to a certain level of trust between us! I thought I could count on you, and yet here you come and betray me like this! Shame! Shame on you and your family! Shame on your entire country of coffee drinkers! Shame!”  
“You didn’t answer my question,” Virgil said, taking a deep sigh and rubbing his temples. It was half passed five in the afternoon and during their twelve hours of working together his jittery coworker hadn’t even begun to slow down. “Did you or did you not have coffee today?”  
“…Perhaps one cup…” Wheatley admitted, shifting his eyes away from Virgil’s gaze.  
“One cup of what exactly?” Virgil pressed.  
“Large mocha with two extra shots of expresso,” Wheatley answered matter-of-factly.  
“Two extra shots?! That’s four shots of espresso!” Virgil exclaimed, doing his best to stop himself from slapping Wheatley there and then. “What the hell are you doing drinking that much caffeine?! I thought you hated coffee! No, I thought we banned you from ever having coffee again!”  
“Yes, yes you did, about four months ago, right?” Wheatley began, his hands shaking at his sides. “Well, you see, I’ve been a bit short on sleep lately and I knew I would be working a double shift today so I decided ‘sure why not give this whole coffee thing a try again’ and it worked! I haven’t felt even the slightest bit drowsy all day long! I feel great! In fact, I feel as if I could run a marathon –no- run two marathons!”  
“Wheatley, the reason we banned you from coffee is because you can’t have caffeine! It gets you too excited and then you don’t shut up for hours and that’s bad for business!” Virgil scolded.  
“That is not true, I’ve been perfectly normal today, talking my usual amount! Isn’t that right?” Wheatley asked, glancing back at their third coworker who had been focused on an order for the past few moments and attempting to hide away in the corner from the altercation that had ensued.  
“I don’t want any part in this,” Doug said, concentrating on his latte art. When he finished he called it out for their customer and immediately began working on the next order.  
“Oh, I get it. You’re all just trying to gang up on me, aren’t you?” Wheatley said, crossing his arms. “Having a good time getting in a few jabs at poor little Wheatley here? Well you know what, I’m not falling for it. I am having a good day today and I won’t let you ruin that mood!”  
“That’s another reason we don’t let you have coffee, it makes you paranoid,” Virgil pointed out.  
“I am not!” Wheatley argued. “Doug, do I sound paranoid to you? Because if you ask me, which I know no one ever does, I think I sound perfectly reasonable all things considered!”  
“Sorry, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Doug answered, and he seemed to find his response funny for some reason.  
“If you want to have a caffeine high, do it on your own time,” Virgil continued, giving Wheatley a stern look. “Don’t bring work into it, is that understood?”  
“I wouldn’t have to if you gave me more reasonable hours,” Wheatley continued to argue.  
“You know I don’t make the schedules,” Virgil pointed out.  
“Yes, but you could at least put in a word to the manager that if she thinks she’s been giving me reasonable working hours she’s crazy!” Wheatley snapped.  
“Who’s crazy?”  
“What?! N-no-no one! No one’s crazy! Nothing at all, I said nothing. Did I say anything, Virgil? Doug? I’ve been perfectly silent all afternoon!” Wheatley stammered, shrinking away from the figure standing in the doorway to the storage room.  
“I heard nothing,” Doug agreed, trying to scoot further into his corner.  
“We’re just going over some rules that need to be revisited, that’s all,” Virgil assured the manager, who had been giving him an expectant look this whole time, as if he would be the only one to answer her truthfully.  
“I see,” the manager said, drumming her fingers against her crossed arm. “So you don’t have complaints about any certain work schedules, or perhaps paychecks for that matter, that I happen to sign off on so you can afford to continue living. Am I correct?” she asked, looking now hard at Wheatley, who was still refusing to make any form of eye contact.  
“That-that’s right, y-yes!” Wheatley responded, his voice cracking slightly.  
“Good, because I’d hate to see that paycheck cut in half. Wouldn’t you?” she asked, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smug smile.  
“You won’t here any complaints from me, M-Manager!” Wheatley agreed, trying to make his voice sound more confident than he felt.  
“I will hold you to that,” the manager warned.  
“Oh, and if it isn’t our favourite customer, right on time!” Virgil said quickly, changing the subject to the dark haired customer walking in through the door. Chell made her way straight to the front counter where she plopped herself down onto a stool and head rested dejectedly on the countertop without so much as a glance at anyone.  
“Good afternoon, love! And how does this fine day fare you? Hopefully better than it’s faring me, because that means you haven’t had people yelling down on you all day and fighting off a bad case of sleeplessness,” Wheatley prattled on, smiling at her warmly. “But enough about me. How are you today?”  
Chell held up a single thumb pointed downwards, not even lifting her head an inch.  
“I take it you’ve had a rough day,” Virgil said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter in front of Chell. “Want to talk about it?”  
Slowly Chell lifted her head and pulled out her paper and pen and began to write something down. When she was done she handed the paper off to Virgil.  
“The motel I’ve been living at is kicking me out,” Virgil read. “Why are they kicking you out? You’re able to pay for your stay, aren’t you?”  
Chell nodded and started writing another message. When she was done she handed it off to Virgil again.  
“The motel only allows guests to stay for up to two months,” Virgil read. “Alright, so why don’t you find another motel? There are plenty of them around.”  
Chell held out her hand and rubbed her fingers against her thumb.  
“Too expensive?” Virgil asked.  
Chell nodded and then pointed to where Doug was still standing working on orders.  
“Ah, and you need to find a place that allows pets too,” Virgil nodded in understanding.  
Chell sighed a confirmation.  
“So let me get this straight,” Wheatley began. “You currently have no place to live, correct?”  
Chell looked at Wheatley and nodded slowly. He had that tone in his voice that he got when he was thinking of an idea, and considering previous instances any ideas that came out of Wheatley’s head could only mean trouble.  
“Well that isn’t a problem, you can live here!” Wheatley exclaimed like it was the best idea he’d ever had.  
“Excuse you, this is a café, not a motel,” the manager stated, glaring at him.  
“Weren’t you complaining to Virgil just the other day that you were looking for a roommate for your flat upstairs? Well, you’re looking at one right here!” Wheatley said, gesturing emphatically to Chell.  
Chell sat back in her stool, shaking her head vigorously.   
“No, no, listen, it’s a perfect idea!” Wheatley continued. “She’s one of our most frequent customers, it only makes sense for her to live close. And she doesn’t even talk! So you don’t have to worry about her being too noisy, either!”  
“I’m not about to let some stray off the street stay in my home,” the manager argued. “Especially if she has a pet.”  
“The cat belongs to Doug, and he’ll be taking her back shortly, isn’t that correct,” Virgil pointed out, looking to Doug for confirmation.  
Doug jumped, startled at the reminder of his cat’s situation. “It won’t be much longer, I promise,” he said, but something in his voice sounded unsure.  
“You would have to deal with a cat one, maybe two weeks at most,” Virgil continued. “It actually isn’t a terrible idea, surprisingly.”  
“Thank you,” Wheatley beamed.  
“Actually it is a terrible idea, because the king of terrible ideas is the one who suggested it, so even if I can’t think of many reasons right now as to why it would be a terrible idea, I’m sure they will soon present themselves,” the manager pointed out. “Besides, rent isn’t cheap and I have certain standards street rats are likely to not meet.”  
Chell gave her an offended look. She quickly wrote another message and held it out for everyone to see. I have a full time job, thank you very much!  
“A street rat is a street rat, no matter their occupation,” the manager shot back.  
“I think you two would make lovely roommates,” Virgil stated, giving the manager a knowing grin.  
“I am not agreeing to this,” the manager said.  
Neither am I, Chell added.  
“Alright, look; you need a place to live,” Virgil said, looking at Chell. “And you need a roommate,” he added, looking at the manager. “You two already somewhat know each other, it only makes sense.”  
“Can you even afford the rent?” the manager challenged.  
Try me, Chell responded.  
“I bet you couldn’t last two weeks,” Wheatley said, giving Chell a smug look.  
“I bet you couldn’t even last one,” Virgil added to the manager.  
“Is that a challenge?” the manager questioned.  
I can last longer than her, Chell put in.  
“I highly doubt that,” the manager said, clenching her teeth.  
“Then why not put it to the test?” Virgil suggested, looking over at Wheatley hopefully.  
They were all silent for several moments, Chell and the manager exchanging harsh, challenging looks.  
“Two weeks,” the manager finally said. “I’ll give you two weeks and if you can prove to not be an unimaginable annoyance and get that pest out of your care in that time, I’ll allow you to stay until you find more permanent residence. Deal?”  
Chell thought about it for a moment before holding out her hand.   
The manager grasped Chell’s hand firmly, shaking on it.  
“I better not regret this,” the manager told her before disappearing behind the storage room door.  
“You won’t regret this, I promise,” Wheatley said to Chell hopefully. She returned his look with a determined one of her own.  
“This can’t end well,” Doug muttered under his breath. Whatever happened, he feared he was going to need to get his cat back sooner than he expected out of fear for her safety.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chell always had her morning coffee. It didn’t matter if the world was being consumed by wind or fire or water or storm, she was going to get her morning coffee, and no, not even the golden-eyed manager would stop her. So when Chell came out of her new room the next morning to find the pathway to her newly shared kitchen blocked off by a certain white-haired giant, her mood immediately became sour.  
“There are a few rules you need to understand before anything happens,” Gladys started, arms crossed over her white nightgown. “First, if it doesn’t belong to you, don’t use it. And yes, that includes the coffee maker. Second, if it is of absolute importance that you use something that doesn’t belong to you, you immediately ask me, which I will likely deny. Third, you keep your things to yourself, put away, tidy and neat at all times. Is this understood?”  
It was far too early in the morning for Chell to even begin to know how to deal with this.  
Pulling out her pen and paper from her sweatpants pocket, Chell began to write her reply: Just give me coffee.  
Gladys took the note, inspecting it carefully. “Hmm, I believe the correct phrasing should be ‘please may I have some coffee?’ Don’t you agree?”  
Chell responded only with a blank glare.  
“You get one cup of coffee each morning,” Gladys began. “Anything more you can buy from the shop downstairs just as you always do. Now if you buy your own coffee I can allow two uses of my machine each morning, so if you want more than that I suggest you buy your own coffee maker.”  
Chell nodded in agreement, She would argue these terms but that was a battle for a later time when she was considerably more awake. For now, one cup of coffee would have to suffice.  
“And I am your roommate, not your landlady, so I expect you to keep your things clean and spend no more than thirty minutes in the bathroom at a time, is that understood?” Gladys asked as she entered the kitchen to begin making a pot of coffee.  
Chell nodded impatiently, simply trying to appease her for now.   
“Good.” When the coffee was ready, Gladys poured herself and Chell both a cup. “If you want any added sugars or creams you will have to add them yourself. I’ll allow you to use mine for this morning but you will be expected to buy and use your own groceries from now on.”  
Once again, Chell nodded agreeably. It was tiresome listening to the manager prattle on with her demands, but she had to admit it was better than the motel she had been staying in. Gladys’s apartment was very neat and rather plain, yet somehow still homey. She had agreed to letting the cat stay under the rule that the litter box remained on the balcony and the door cracked open just enough for the cat to get in and out. Both Chell and Gladys had little fear of bugs and the place was far too neat to attract anything unreasonable.   
“The cat stays off the furniture,” Gladys went on. “If I find any cat hairs anywhere they aren’t supposed to be, it will be added onto your rent. A dollar for each hair I find. Understood?”  
Chell wanted to point out it would be difficult to tell the difference between her white hair and the cats, but kept her mouth shut –so to speak- and nodded obediently.   
“Good,” Gladys smiled, but there was no warmth to it. “I will take use of the bathroom first. Please, do not leave any dirty towels or laundry on the floor when you are done.” And with that she disappeared into her room, only to return a moment later with clean clothes for the day and went on into their shared bathroom.  
Chell didn’t have to be at work for another hour and a half and could stand to wait. She could tell already these arrangements were going to be difficult, but for today she wanted nothing more than to get along easily, and even if it meant taking shots to her pride she would deal with it.  
It was going to be an interesting new home life, indeed.

“How’s roommate life treating you?” Virgil asked the manager, taking a sip of his drink.  
“Absolutely appalling. I can’t wait until it’s over,” Gladys answered, shooting a glare in Chell’s direction on the other side of the counter.  
Chell returned it with a smile, taking a swig of her own drink. Hot chocolate with a little something extra, as Virgil said. It was almost midnight and the shop was ready to close. All of the guests had left a long time ago, so Virgil decided to make drinks for everyone still around, save for Wheatley. Virgil didn’t trust him to have anything stronger than black tea, so black tea is what he got.  
“What about the cat?” Wheatley asked. “She’s doing well, yes?”  
Chell nodded, a genuine smile on her face rather than the smirk from earlier. Chell was growing used to taking care of a cat, and was actually quite anxious about the day when she would have to return her to Doug. Still, it would be for the best. It was only the end of the first day living with a roommate and Chell could already tell cat was going to cause a great deal of stress in their home.  
“Oh good, good,” Wheatley said with relief. Even though the cat obviously didn’t care for him, Wheatley certainly loved the cat, from a distance, at least.   
“Hopefully you’re being nice to her,” Virgil said, looking up at the manager with a somewhat pointed expression.   
“The cat is being allowed to live,” Gladys explained. “That is all the courtesy I owe it.”  
“I meant Chell,” Virgil clarified.  
“As long as she stays out of my hair there won’t be any problems,” Gladys said, once again looking down at Chell.  
Chell pulled out her notebook and pen, writing out a message, which she handed over to Virgil.  
“I am a delight,” Virgil read. “Well she said it, not me.”  
“I’m sure Chell is an incredible delight,” Wheatley argued. “Likely the most delightful of them all, wouldn’t you say?”  
“That statement could be argued,” Gladys said.  
Chell simply beamed up at her, trying to look as angelic as possible.  
“I’m sure you two will live happily ever after together,” Virgil joked, barely containing a laugh.  
“Don’t say that!” Gladys snapped. “You make it sound as if we’re married!”  
“I said no such thing,” Virgil argued, still suppressing a giggle.  
“Honestly I don’t think they would work together, wouldn’t you say the same, love?” Wheatley asked Chell, looking at her with hopeful eyes.  
Chell nodded in agreement, looking over at Gladys and making a face of disgust, then returning her smile.  
“Joke all you want but I’m the one providing a roof over your head so graciously,” Gladys pointed out.  
Ding!  
“Sorry, we’re closed,” Virgil called, giving Wheatley an annoyed look for not locking up yet.  
“There’s someone here I need to speak with,” the guest responded, hovering near the door.  
Chell turned around to get a look at him. It was a kid; he couldn’t be any more than sixteen years old. He had bright ginger hair and a fair amount of freckles on his face. He wore dark clothing, as if he were trying too hard to look grown up. Chell could tell the kid was obviously uncomfortable, barely able to hold his ground.  
“That doesn’t change the fact that we’re closed,” Gladys pointed out. “Come back tomorrow.”  
“Are you Virgil?” the kid asked, making his eyes meet Virgil’s.   
“I am, and who are you?” Virgil asked, crossing his arms.  
“That doesn’t matter. I-I have a message for you,” the kid responded, his voice quivering a bit.  
“Tell me your name first and I’ll consider listening to what you have to say,” Virgil told him.  
The kid didn’t answer for a moment, but eventually said “Nigel.”  
“Good to meet you Nigel,” Virgil said pleasantly. “Now as we’ve already stated, we’re closed. Please go home.”  
“But I have to deliver this message first,” Nigel argued, holding his ground.  
“Play your childish games outside of my shop,” Gladys ordered. “This is a place of business, not a game of telephone. And once again, we are closed.”  
“It’s from Henrietta,” Nigel said quickly, still looking at Virgil.  
Virgil went stiff for a moment; so quick Chell almost missed it. The next moment he vaulted himself over the counter and walked over to where Nigel stood by the door.  
“And what is this message?” Virgil asked in a voice too low to be heard by the others. Chell looked over at Gladys to see that she had gone still as well and was biting her lower lip, eyes gazing sharply at where Virgil stood with Nigel.  
Nigel spoke in a low voice, making it impossible anyone to hear him besides Virgil. When he was done Virgil backed away and promptly returned to his place behind the counter.  
“Go home, kid,” Virgil called to Nigel over his shoulders.  
“Wait, she wanted a response!” Nigel said quickly, taking a few steps forward.  
“Tell her I told you to go home,” Virgil snapped. “Now get going before I call the police on you for breaking in to this shop that, once again, is closed.”  
“But the door was open!” Nigel argued.  
“I’m calling the police,” Gladys said, turning to head through the storage room door where the telephone was located.   
“Wait, wait, don’t!” Nigel said quickly. “I’ll leave, alright? I’ll leave. Just please don’t call the cops on me.”  
“Then get out,” Gladys snapped.  
Nigel took one last look around the room, landing his focus on Virgil. “She won’t be happy about this,” he said, and then turned to leave to the door, closing it with a final ding.  
“What the bloody hell was that about?” Wheatley asked when Nigel was gone, looking down at his coworker incredulously.  
“None of your concern,” Virgil responded as he began cleaning up the drinks they had all mostly finished.  
“I don’t know, that all looked a bit concerning to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Chell?” Wheatley asked, looking to her for support.  
Chell vaguely nodded, not wanting to get into this but also being too curious to stay out of it completely.  
“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil told them, a bit shortly.  
“But—” Wheatley began.  
“He said don’t worry about it,” Gladys interrupted, giving Wheatley a cold look.  
Wheatley immediately backed down, looking down at his feet like a dog with its tail between its legs and walking away to go lock the front door.  
“I’m clocking out early,” Virgil said, putting the last cup in the sink and going into the storage room to clock out. When he was done he poked his head out through the storage room door and added, “I’m going out the back. See you tomorrow.” He closed the door behind him and left.  
“And I’m going to bed,” the manager said, faking a yawn. “Wheatley, I expect you to finish up the cleaning around her. Don’t forget to lock the door behind you.” She left behind the same door as Virgil and headed her way back to the apartment upstairs.  
Wheatley looked over at Chell, a worried expression on his face. “What do you think that was all about?” he asked.  
Chell shrugged, getting up from her seat. She was sure that whatever it was, it was private. But that didn’t stop her curiosity. It did leave her with a sick feeling, though.  
“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then, bright and early?” Wheatley asked, a bit hopeful.  
Chell smiled and nodded, then headed out the same way as Gladys and Virgil and up to her new home, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened just now.   
Whatever it was, Chell hoped Virgil was going to be alright.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

“Where's Virgil?”  
“Not in today,” answered Wheatley, counting the change in register to make sure it was all accounted for. Doug was brewing a fresh pot of coffee in preparation for their early morning customers, that being Chell and the occasional stranger who ventured into the shop in these early hours of the morning.   
“He was scheduled to work today, though,” Doug pointed out, turning on the coffee brewer. “It isn't like him to not show up.”  
“Actually his name's been scratched out,” Rick said through a yawn, coming in from the back door.  
“What are you doing here?” Wheatley asked, surprised to see him.  
“Got a call last night from the Manager asking me to come in this morning,” Rick explained. “Said I didn't really have a choice in the matter, either.”  
Before Wheatley could respond, Chell came in through the back door behind Rick, still looking half asleep as she made her way to her usual seat at the counter.  
“The usual?” Doug asked, turning to start preparing her usual morning shots of espresso.  
Chell nodded, giving Doug a half-hearted thumbs up.   
“May I recommend trying a macchiato instead?” Doug asked. “You still get your espresso but you at least have some milk to accompany it.”  
Chell look at Doug as if he just suggested she eat glass. She shook her head violently, making a disgusted expression for emphasis.   
“I'll take that as a no,” Doug said, passing Chell her first round.  
“So, did something happen last night or has our fearless second-in-command suddenly become uncharacteristically sick?” Rick asked, tying up his apron and rolling up his sleeves.   
Chell and Wheatley looked between each other, neither one speaking up in their own ways.  
“Please tell me someone didn't die or something,” Rick said, exasperatingly.   
“Well, to be honest not entirely sure about that, mate,” Wheatley confessed.   
“Is everyone alright?” Doug asked, clearly concerned by Wheatley's words.  
“We . . . aren't entirely sure about that,” Wheatley explained.  
“Well, go on,” Rick coaxed, impatient.  
“Alright, so, I was about to go lock the doors. I swear, I was just about to do it!” Wheatley started. “But before I had the chance some kid with a bad haircut comes in and starts demanding to speak to Virgil. A kid! I'm talking still lives with his mum and watches cartoons! Now Virgil and the Manager both are getting very defensive, no idea why, but it almost feels as if they know this kid from somewhere. I'm not sure exactly how, but I've just got this feeling in the back of my head, I can't explain it. So Virgil goes and has a word with this kid and none of us can make out what he says but it must be bloody bad because the kid is absolutely livid! Before he leaves he mentions something about someone named Henrietta not being pleased with this? I don't know what happened but it was shady, mate, very shady. And the Manager clearly knows what's going on but she certainly isn't going to say anything, not one thing.”  
“So what you're saying is, our Virgil is probably dealing drugs or something?” Rick asked, in a tone that was only half joking.  
“I'm pretty sure Virgil of all people is not dealing drugs,” Wheatley snapped.   
“Well this is awfully shady business it sounds like he's doing,” Rick pointed out. “Maybe he's actually a hit-man? He is awfully spry for such a little guy.”  
“What was that, Richard?” the manager asked, suddenly emerging into the room from the back door.  
“Oh, howdy there, Manager!” Rick said in mock ease. “What was what?”  
“I'm only going to say this once, so please don't give me a reason to repeat myself,” the manager stated, staring coldly at all of them in turn. “Virgil is going to be out for a few days. He will return before the end of the week. You will not make any inquiries to his whereabouts. You will not ask any questions to each other, to me, or to him when he returns. You will drop this matter immediately and go about your work as professionally as I expect of you. Do I make myself clear?”  
She waited for their responses, which were stuck in their throats, no one wanting to be the first to speak up.  
“Yes ma'am,” Rick eventually said, giving her a respectful, if not casual, salute.   
The manager looked between Wheatley and Doug, waiting for their responses.  
“Understood, Manager,” Wheatley squeaked out.   
“Understood,” Doug added quietly with a nod.   
“Good,” the manager said. “I'm going to be in the office or out most of this week. Be on your best behavior while I'm away.”  
“Yes, Manager,” the three said in unison.   
With one final stern look, the manager saw herself out the back.  
Wheatley let out a sigh. “What is going on?” he asked, looking between the other three.  
“I don't know,” Rick answered. “But I think we best listen to the Manager and keep our mouths shut about it. Lord knows what Virgil got himself into, but it ain't our place to go sticking our noses where they don't belong. And I'm not challenging the Manager, no way.”  
Chell pulled out her paper and pen and wrote out a note. She held it out for someone to take.  
Doug took the note and read it out for the others to hear. “I hope he's okay,” he read. “Me too, Chell.”  
The four went back into silence, Rick setting about to clean the counter and Doug working on Chell's next round of espresso. He set the glass down for her and just like the one before Chell downed it within a moment, a satisfied smile crossing over her face.  
“I meant to ask, how is Cube?” Doug inquired, turning to make her third drink.  
Chell gave him a broad grin as an answer when he returned with her shot. She motioned petting the air and then crossed her arms over her chest tightly, spinning slightly in her chair.  
“She does love attention,” Doug agreed, understanding her meaning. “I'm sorry again about this. It shouldn't be much longer.”  
Chell gave Doug a concerned look, tilting her head slightly to the side. She held her hands in an outward twirling motion before pointing at Doug, a curious tilt of her eyebrow accompanying the sign.   
“I'm fine,” Doug assured her, able to understand minimal amounts of sign language. Chell had taken to trying to teach the staff at the café. So far Doug was the best learner, followed by Virgil and then surprisingly Leo. It was often more efficient than writing out notes, when they could understand her, at least.   
“No offense buddy, but you haven't been looking fine at all these past few weeks,” Rick cut in, returning to the counter with a rag slung over his shoulder.  
“Did you want that fourth drink?” Doug asked Chell, ignoring Rick's statement.  
Chell shook her head, still eyeing Doug with concern. She repeated her question, both eyebrows raised with worry.  
“I promise I'm fine,” Doug said, a little impatiently.   
“Why's it taken you over two weeks to talk to your landlord then about your cat?” Rick questioned, crossing his arms.  
“Does the entire staff know?” Doug asked, clearly displeased at the idea.  
“Virgil was pretty worried about you,” Wheatley put in.   
“And rightfully so,” Rick added. “Now if there's a problem you know you can talk to us about it. Best do it too before the customers start showing up, no offense miss Chell.”  
Chell just waved her hand in dismissal, not bothered by his words. At this point she was hardly a customer of the shop anymore.  
“It's nothing worth worrying over,” Doug explained, trying to busy himself with cleaning out the second coffeepot, even though it was already cleaned the night before.  
“You're one of our senior staff members,” Rick pointed out. “It's our job to worry over you. Just like we were worrying over Virgil a few minutes ago. Now come on, tell us what's going on.”  
“He's right,” Wheatley put in. “We can't run a tight ship for the Manager if not one, but two of our staff are down.”  
Doug sighed. “There's no sense in talking about it if it doesn't solve the problem,” he explained. “And no, you can't fix it.”  
“Maybe not,” Rick agreed. “But we might be able to give some useful advice. Don't sell us short.”  
Chell and Wheatley both nodded in agreement, giving Doug encouraging smiles.  
Doug groaned. “I'm . . . having problems with the people in my building.”  
“What kind of problems?” Rick asked.  
“The two break-ins in one week kind,” Doug explained.  
“Have you called the police?” Wheatley asked, a note of shock in his voice.  
“I have,” Doug replied. “And my landlord had already seen it fit to inform them that my word is unreliable.”  
“And what proof does he have of that?” Rick questioned, narrowing his eyes in disgust.  
“There have been . . . incidents in the past,” Doug said, looking down at his shoes. “It was a long time ago. Point is there's little I can do about the situation and unless there's a drastic change, I don't feel safe leaving Cube alone at my apartment.”  
Chell quickly wrote out a note and handed it to Rick, who was standing beside her.  
“You should move,” Rick read. “I agree. You need to find a better place to live.”  
“I can't afford that right now,” Doug told them.  
“Now I know our Manager can be a stone cold you-know-what, but she pays us well,” Rick pointed out.  
“I have other expenses besides rent to cover,” Doug explained.   
“Then find a roommate. You've got friends, a girlfriend, family right?” Rick coaxed.  
“No.” Doug answered, more sharply than he intended.  
“Oh, oh, idea!” Wheatley said quickly, raising his hand. “I've got a place! Well, not a very good place, and it's only one room, but there's a couch! It's, um, it's a small couch. But hey! You're pretty small, aren't you? And there's even a working bathroom! Now it's not the closest to the shop but the ride by bike isn't so bad. Except when it rains. Which it does a lot . . . But if you're in that much need it really isn't so bad!”  
“Thank you, but I couldn't accept that,” Doug responded, more softly now.  
“Why not?” Rick questioned. “You need a new place you can afford, and Wheatley probably needs a roommate to keep him in line. It's a good plan.”  
“I never do well with roommates,” Doug tried to explain.  
“Oh come on, they ain't that bad! Tell him, Chell. If she can live with the Manager and survive, I'm sure living with the talking light pole won't be so bad.”  
“Hey!” Wheatley objected.  
“Zip it,” Rick snapped, doing a shushing motion with his hand without even looking at Wheatley. “Give us one good reason why you couldn't.”  
Doug was silent. He just kept looking down at his shoes, shifting uncomfortably.  
“Thought so,” Rick said.   
“Come on, it would be loads of fun too!” Wheatley encouraged, looking over to Doug excitedly.  
Doug made a face. Fun wasn't the word that came to mind at the prospect of sharing a home with the talkative coworker. “Cube wouldn't like it.”  
“Yeah, and I'm sure she doesn't like not living with you,” Rick pointed out. “You gotta give somewhere.”  
Doug didn't respond immediately. “I'll think about it,” he finally said.  
“Brilliant!” Wheatley cheered, doing a little jump into the air.   
“Better decide sooner rather than later,” Rick told him. “I'm sure Miss Chell is getting tired of having a cat in her care.”  
Chell made a sad face in response. She had grown attached to the cat and dreaded the idea of having to see her go. But she understood Doug needed her more than she did, however bittersweet the thought might be.  
“Well, we better get to work,” Rick said, jumping over the counter. “Customers will start coming in soon. And we gotta run a tight ship while Virgil is away, don't we?”  
Doug and Wheatley nodded in agreement, both expressions turning to ones of determination.   
Chell smiled. She couldn't explain it, but something about being in this place made her feel warm. The way everyone seemed to look after each other, and care for them in times of need, it was heartening. Somehow, this place had become like home to her. And these people like a second family. She cared about every one of them more than she ever expected she would about other people.   
If only she could be certain that Virgil was okay . . .

Lights flickered above the dim alleyway, streaking the wet asphalt in flashes of orange to black. The air was chilled, as if summer had left early for autumn to take its place.   
Virgil waited at the corner of the alley, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed; he had been waiting ten minutes now. A shadow emerged from the darkness of the alleyway, taking form into the shape of a woman in the hazy orange glow.   
“You're late,” Virgil barked at her, barely looking up to meet her eyes.  
“I'm surprised you actually showed your face,” the woman responded. “I would have thought a coward like you would have turned tail and ran at the first sign of my little messenger.”  
“You've resorted to bossing kids around now?” Virgil questioned, the sharpness in his voice clear as the night around them.  
“You were just a kid when I started 'bossing you around',” the woman laughed, shaking her dark hair out of her face.  
“I was eighteen,” Virgil corrected. “Not some child who still lives with his parents.”  
“If you're so concerned about my messenger why don't you come see him?” the woman challenged, glaring down at Virgil with icy eyes.   
“I'm not falling for that,” Virgil spat, straightening up.  
“Then why are you here?” the woman asked, genuinely curious now.  
Virgil took a deep breath, setting his jaw and glaring back up at the imposing woman standing before him.  
“We need to talk.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Doug always enjoyed mornings. He found them to be the most peaceful time of the day. He had a very strict morning routine and he liked to stay by it. He would wake up, take a shower, have his morning coffee and take his medication, fix Cube her breakfast, find something quick to eat, get dressed for the day, and head out to work. On days when he didn't work mornings he would either stay home and work on personal projects or go downtown and do whatever shopping or business he needed to take care of that day. Doug liked his schedules; he liked order.  
Living with a new roommate  (Or any roommate at all.), however, found a way to destroy that order.  
Doug banged his fist against the bathroom door once again. “Wheatley, it's been twenty minutes! How much time do you need in there?”  
“Can't hear you, mate!” Wheatley called back. “Water's running; it's too loud!”  
Doug huffed. He was almost certain Wheatley could hear him perfectly well and was just purposefully ignoring him. What could he possibly be doing that would take him so long? It didn't take twenty minutes for one to wash up.  
Cube rubbed against his legs, happy to be alone with him instead of having that tall lanky stranger lurking about. It was a new place and Cube wasn't used to it yet, but even worse than the apartment itself was the man who lived inside. Separating Chell from Cube had been surprisingly difficult, as neither of them were keen on parting. Doug almost felt bad by the brief look of sadness on Chell's face as he took Cube away. He felt less bad for the cat. He knew she would get over it quickly, once she redirected her energy into hating Wheatley. Doug silently hoped that hatred would be well kept in check so that they could avoid ever having to transport Wheatley to the nearest hospital for serious lacerations. The thought alone made Doug shudder.  
Doug picked up the fluffy cat, stroking the fur on her head affectionately. “I suppose coffee and breakfast will have to come first, then,” he said, walking away from the bathroom door and into the small kitchen.  
Doug luckily had the day off yesterday and Wheatley gave him the spare key so that he could get himself moved in. He was still in the process of getting off his current lease at the old apartment complex, so Wheatley was generous enough to hold off on charging Doug rent and instead just asked that he did most of the cleaning around the place until things were settled. Doug was more than happy to accept the offer. Cleaning had never bothered him, anyways.  
Doug first prepared Cube's breakfast and then started on his coffee and his own food; a simple slice of toast with honey or jam was plenty in the mornings. Cube, on the other hand, demanded a full bowl of premium wet food. Normally Doug wouldn't spend so much money on such extravagant meals, but he could do without a few pleasantries if it meant Cube got the food she wanted. She always did put up such a fuss when he tried to wean her onto dry food.  
When he finished his breakfast Doug returned to the bathroom door, banging on it once more. “You haven't drowned, have you?” he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice. Normally he wouldn't have been so abrupt, but having to reschedule his morning in an already unfamiliar place had put him on edge.  
“Almost done, no need to get your knickers in a twist,” Wheatley called. At least the water had stopped running, so he was no longer showering. But if he wasn't showering, what could he possibly be doing?  
Another ten minutes passed before Wheatley finally came out, fully dressed in his work clothes and looking his usual pretentiously disheveled self.  
“Sorry Doug, but it takes time to get my hair looking like this,” Wheatley said, gesturing dramatically to his blond hair, sticking up in odd directions as it always did. Not that Doug had any room to talk about messy hair, except his tended to stay messy naturally, whereas it seemed Wheatley put time and effort into achieving the look.  
“Might want to give me a warning next time,” Doug suggested, grabbing his things and heading quickly to the shower.  
Doug had just barely finished getting his pants on when he heard a scream coming from the living room. Ignoring his initial reaction to jump inside the shower and hide, Doug ventured a look out the door and into the next room.  
Wheatley was standing on the couch, holding a book high over his head and shaking. Upon further inspection and stepping out of the bathroom for a better view, Doug found Cube standing at the front of the couch, glaring up at Wheatley and baring her teeth at him, a strangled hiss making its way out of her throat.  
“What are you doing?” Doug cried, running into the room and scooping Cube up into his arms.  
“What am I doing?” Wheatley questioned, still holding up the large book defensively. “That thing tried to murder me!”  
“She's a cat, not a thing!” Doug corrected him, rather impatiently. “And what makes you think that?”  
“I was minding my own business, trying to straighten up a bit, put my books away, and she just so happens to be sitting on this one, and when I tried to remove it from under her she swiped at me! Next thing I know she's coming at me with those claws of hers and making the most unnatural sounds I ever heard! Mad, she's gone! If you hadn't have come out sooner I swear she would've jumped at me!” Wheatley rambled on, slowly lowering the book but still holding a defensive stance.  
“She would not have tried to attack you,” Doug assured him, though he doubted the statement himself. “She just got defensive because you moved something she was sitting on. That's normal behavior for cats.”  
“Well, cats are horribly rude creatures,” Wheatley complained, getting down from the couch since Cube was firmly being held by Doug.  
“She just has to get used to you,” Doug said, scratching behind Cube's ears to try and calm her down.  
“No, she wants blood, that's what she's after,” Wheatley said bitterly.  
“If you avoid her, she'll avoid you.” Doug said, taking Cube to the other side of the room and gently setting her down, much to Wheatley's disapproval. “Now we should head off before we're both late for work.”  
“Right you are,” Wheatley agreed. “You've got a helmet, yes?” he asked.  
“A . . . helmet?” Doug questioned, looking at him confused.  
“Yes, a helmet,” Wheatley repeated. “For the bike.”  
“What bike?” Doug asked, incredulous.  
“My bike,” Wheatley said, emphasizing the words carefully. “You are riding with me, aren't you?”  
“Two people can't fit on a bike, Wheatley,” Doug informed him.  
“They can if one sits on the handlebars,” Wheatley pointed out.  
“That . . . that is not a safe seating arrangement,” Doug said. “I'll catch a cab.”  
Wheatley shrugged. “Suit yourself, mate.”  
Grabbing their keys and wallets, the two men stepped outside, locking the door behind them. Doug hated leaving Cube alone in a strange place, but he would have to hope she would be okay.  
And pray she doesn't pee on Wheatley's things.

“You're la-ate!” Leo sing-songed as Wheatley and Doug rushed in the back door.  
“It's 5:00 on the dot!” Wheatley protested.  
“No, it's ten after 5:00,” Leo corrected, pointing to the clock on the wall.  
Doug checked his watch. “He's right,” Doug sighed.  
“How did my watch get slow?” Wheatley asked, looking down sadly at his watch and fiddling with the time.  
“Either way you better fix it,” Doug commented, pulling on his apron and tying it up.  
“The Manager won't be happy,” Leo pointed out.  
“I'm sure she has other things on her mind right now,” Doug muttered, clocking in.  
“Doug, you didn't turn back my watch, did you?” Wheatley asked.  
“Why on earth would I do that?”  
“I don't know, to sabotage me maybe?”  
“Why would I-”  
“Hey!” Leo interjected. “Rick told me you two were living together now. How's that going?”  
“Fine!” the two of them snapped at the same time, glaring down at Leo.  
“Okay, okay, sorry I asked,” Leo said, backing up slowly.  
The three went to work in silence. Upon inspection Wheatley discovered that Virgil wasn't listed for work for the rest of the week. There was also no sign of the manager in the shop that morning. Chell came down at her usual time but scarfed her drinks down before rushing out the door. She quickly explained that today was a big day at work as the antique shop was hosting a viewing and she needed to be there extra early that morning.  
For most of the day the shop was quiet. No book clubs or groups of rowdy musicians came into the shop that day, and it was turning out to be quite pleasant, despite the uncharacteristically peaceful atmosphere.  
Around two in the afternoon, a familiar redhead popped her way into the shop and over to the counter.  
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Mel said with a brilliant smile, sitting down in her usual seat.  
“Good to see you, Mel!” Leo said excitedly.  
“Caramel macchiato?” Doug asked, already starting to prepare her usual.  
“Give me the biggest size you have,” Mel beamed. “Oh, where's Virgil today? I could have sworn he would be here at this time.”  
“He's not in,” Wheatley said quickly, not wanting Mel to know about the current situation.  
“Hmm, that's odd,” Mel mused. “He wasn't in yesterday, either. He's not sick, is he?”  
“No idea,” Leo said, shrugging. “He's not scheduled to be in all week. Rick says something weird is up.”  
Doug and Wheatley both quickly motioned for Leo to keep quiet, but they were too late.  
“What do you mean 'something weird is up'?” Mel asked slowly, narrowing her eyes.  
“It's nothing, nothing at all,” Wheatley quickly interjected. “Absolutely nothing. He's probably on vacation. Yep, that's it. Definitely taking a few well deserved vacation days. Nothing strange about it at all. He's definitely not missing or anything, if that's what you were thinking. He's perfectly alright!”  
Doug dropped his head into his palm. If Mel wasn't worried before, she certainly would be now.  
Mel looked between the three of them, her eyes eventually landing on Doug.  
“Doug,” she said smoothly, an innocent smile crossing her face. “What's going on, sweetie?”  
Doug was not an easily flustered man, and he rarely paid any attention to women to begin with. He held no other interest in Mel other than as a friend, but there was something about her, something that he deeply respected and admired, and that made it hard for him to say no to her.  
“Nothing.” he said after a moment.  
“Nothing at all?” Mel asked, blinking her long lashes.  
“Nothing at all,” Doug affirmed, looking away. It felt similar to saying ‘no’ to Cube, but instead of possibly getting a claw to the face, with Mel, you might get a shoe.  
Mel pouted. “Do you know, Leo?” she asked, turning her big eyes to him.  
Leo, much younger than Doug and having less experience with Mel's charms, held little resistance against her. He caved with no trouble.  
“Rick says that Doug and Wheatley and Chell says that someone came into the shop looking for him the other day and it was really shady, like a drug deal going down, and Virgil and the Manager got all weird and defensive about it and now Virgil has disappeared and the Manager told us to keep our mouths shut about it all.”  
“Dammit, Leo,” Doug muttered under his breath. The last person who needed to know that something was possibly wrong with Virgil was Mel.  
“I'm sorry, I can't say no to her!” Leo exclaimed. “Not when she makes those puppy eyes!”  
“Even I can resist her!” Wheatley put in, looking equally as disappointed as Doug.  
“Yeah, but at least I can resist Chell,” Leo pointed out.  
“Boys,” Mel cut in. “What's going on?”  
The three were suddenly silent. “Nothing,” they all said at once.  
It only took one glare from Mel to make them change their answer.  
“We don't know,” Wheatley explained. “We only know what Leo just told you. Aside form that, we know nothing.”  
“But Virgil is missing?” Mel questioned.  
“To put it in simple terms, yes,” Doug said.  
“Has anyone gone to his house?” Mel asked.  
“Does anyone know where he lives?” Wheatley questioned. “If anyone of us would know we would expect it to be you, Mel.”  
“I've never been to his home before,” Mel told them. “He's only ever been over to mine.”  
“Me as well,” Doug said. “The Manager is probably the only person who actually knows.”  
“And we can't ask her, she'll bite our heads off,” Leo pointed out.  
“So what do we do, then?” Mel asked.  
“Nothing,” Doug said.  
“We can't do nothing! Virgil is missing!” Mel cried.  
“I think we should probably keep it down, maybe,” Wheatley said in a quiet voice. “We don't need the customers to get the wrong idea.”  
Mel glanced around and sighed. “We can't just do nothing if something is wrong with Virgil,” Mel repeated more quietly this time.  
“Then what do you propose we do?” Doug asked.  
Mel was silent. “I don't know, find him?”  
“Well when you have a way figured out, let us know,” Doug told her.  
The four of them were quiet, all wrapped up in their own thoughts. Mel tried to think of every possible explanation for what could have happened, but her mind came up blank. It suddenly hit her how little she actually knew about Virgil, in spite of considering herself one of his closest friends. How true even was that very thought?  
No, she wasn't one of his best friends. She was his best friend. And if he was in trouble, no worrying words from Wheatley or Leo or even Doug were going to keep her from finding out the truth.  
She needed to plan.

“Welcome home, Virgil,” Henrietta greeted, smiling down at Virgil in a not-so-friendly way.  
“Don't say that,” Virgil snapped. “I'm not staying for long. I just need answers.”  
“To what questions?” Henrietta asked, sitting down on a large plush chair in the middle of the room. The room itself was dark and small, but lush with decorations and furniture. It almost felt like it could be homey. Almost.  
“First of all, why is the kid here?” Virgil asked, glancing sideways to the redhead messenger standing awkwardly in the corner of the room. He was fidgeting with the dog tag he wore around his neck, eyes darting between Virgil and Henrietta.  
“He's here to make sure you don't do anything reckless,” Henrietta said with a smug grin.  
“More likely to keep you from doing anything reckless,” Virgil corrected, crossing his arms.  
“Hmm... you're probably right about that,” Henrietta agreed. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and fixing her eyes on Virgil. “So, let's get down to business. Why did you come?”  
“I want you to stay away,” Virgil told her.  
“Stay away?” she questioned. “But we haven't done anything.”  
“You've sought me out, for whatever reason,” Virgil pointed out. “I'm sure I know why, and the answer is no. Now I want to be sure you’'ll leave me and my shop alone.”  
Henrietta laughed. “Your shop?” she asked. “What makes you think we want anything with your shop? It's not even yours, silly.”  
“I'm not going to say it again,” Virgil seethed. “Stay away.”  
Henrietta raised her hands innocently. “Calm down, I only wanted to see how you're doing with your new life,” she said sweetly. “Is it wrong for an old friend to be worried about you?”  
“It is when that old friend got me busted,” Virgil pointed out. “Give me your word that you'll stay away.”  
Henrietta pouted. “That's a rude way to treat a friend,” she told him.  
“Give me your word.”  
The kid in the corner shrunk back, clearly uncomfortable from the sudden dark change in Virgil's tone.  
Henrietta stared at him carefully for a moment before answering. “You have my word,” she eventually said.  
“Then we're done here.” Virgil turned to leave.  
“One last thing,” Henrietta called before he got to the door.  
Virgil stopped, but didn't look around. “Yes?” he asked.  
“It's good to see you again, Virgil,” she said, smiling pleasantly.  
Virgil didn't need to see her expression. He knew that sweet tone too well. It made his skin crawl just by thinking about it. Without a word, he opened the door and headed out.  
“Show him out,” Henrietta snapped at the kid, who quickly ran off to follow Virgil.  
When they were out of earshot, Virgil turned to look at the kid walking next to him, not much shorter than himself.  
“You said your name was Nigel, right?” Virgil asked.  
The kid nodded nervously.  
“Why are you hanging out somewhere like this place?” Virgil questioned, reaching the front door.  
“I've got no other options,” Nigel answered quietly.  
“There's always another option,” Virgil told him.  
“You're excused to leave, sir,” Nigel said coldly, opening the door for him.  
Virgil started to say something else but stopped himself. With a sigh, he left through the door and into the dark.


	16. Chapter fifteen

Aperture Café held itself to standards most coffee shops would never attempt. This was usually because of practical reasons, such as employee retention, mental and physical health of said employees, and the responsibility to provide such employees with decent hours of sleep and time to their own lives outside of work. Aperture Café, however, had very different priorities. Now whether these priorities were set in place by the manager or the owner, none of the employees knew for sure, except for possibly Virgil. At the end of the day, it didn't matter who enforced such a regime as long as these expectations were met.   
But by some grace of God, or whatever powers one chooses to believe in, Sundays were given as a day of rest, and the shop remained closed from Saturday night until Monday morning.   
On this one glorious day, the employees usually took advantage of such a break to catch up on well deserved rest. Even the manager could be found sleeping in her bed until the late hours of the morning. There was a silent agreement that no employee break such peace on this day for each other, no matter the emergency.  
However, for those who did not work at the shop, such knowledge was unknown. Which is why Mel dared knock insistently on the manager's apartment door at the early hour of eight in the morning that next Sunday.   
Chell was naturally an early riser, but like the employees of the shop, she worked numerous hours and Sunday was a rare day of rest. However, she still found it hard to sleep long past seven-thirty, and normally was up by eight making her morning doses of caffeine (it being a Sunday, she settled for two shots of espresso rather than her usual four).   
It didn't take long for Chell to answer the door to find a somewhat irritated and breathless Mel behind it.   
“Where's Gladys?” she asked, forgetting her manners and making no introductions.   
Chell lazily held out her hands, palms several inches a part and swung them back towards herself, making a vague likeness of a box shape; the sign for room.   
“I need to speak with her,” Mel explained. “May I come in?”  
Chell paused, raising her eyes in thought. She signed the sign for sleep, as that was the state in which the manager would be found. Chell and Mel both knew perfectly well that waking her had 'danger' and 'certain death' written all over it, but Mel wasn't going to let a cranky Gladys get in her way now. Chell took a step back to let Mel in, and Mel made her way to where she knew was the manager's room.   
The door was of course locked, probably for the better. If Mel had decided to walk in without any warning it could have been the end of her. A bit unceremoniously, she began knocking loudly against the door, giving it a good three raps before pausing to wait. She could barely hear movement in the room, slight rustling of bed sheets and muffled groaning. Mel knocked again, more insistent this time. After another few minutes of waiting the door swung open, revealing a very angry looking Gladys in her long white night gown. Her short white hair was ruffled and sticking up in odd angles, but it still framed her dark face beautifully. Normally the sight would have thrown Mel, for she wouldn't have expected the manager to still look so distinguished even with bed head, but fortunately her mind was occupied elsewhere that morning.  
Gladys looked at Mel up and down, a small note of surprise on her face that only lasted for a few moments before disappearing to pure displeasure. If she were anyone else, Gladys might have hit her.  
“Sorry to bother you, Gladys dear, but I need to ask you a question,” Mel said as pleasantly as she could while still being insistent.   
Gladys gave her such a cold look Mel almost shivered. “You're here at this early hour on a Sunday to ask me a question?” she asked, phrasing her words slowly, her voice growing higher in octaves.   
“I wouldn't be here in person like this if it weren't important,” Mel explained. “I would have asked you sooner this week but you haven't been around. I knew you would be here on a Sunday, so I had to come today or else risk missing you again.”  
“What could possibly be so important that you have to interrupt me on my one day off?” Gladys barked, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes.  
“I need to know where Virgil lives,” Mel said.  
Gladys stopped her movements, pausing to look at Mel with confusion. “You need to know where Virgil lives?”  
“Yes,” Mel confirmed. “Immediately, if possible.”  
Gladys yawned, stretching her arms. “And why is that?”  
“You know very well why that is,” Mel told her. “He's not been in work all week and from what I've heard from the others it sounds like he's in some sort of trouble. I need to see him.”  
“What others?” Gladys asked, suddenly alarmed.  
Mel immediately regretted saying anything. “No one, no one at all,” she said quickly, hoping Gladys would drop the subject.  
However, she did not have such luck. “What others?” Gladys persisted, her tone taking on a note of threatening. If Mel didn't tell her she would find out some other, less pleasant, way.  
Mel hesitated, not wanting to rat out her friends, but knowing that no matter what she did Gladys was going to find out one way or another. “Wheatley, Leo, and Doug . . .?”  
Gladys's eyes flared. “Those insolent little- I told them not to say anything!” she fumed.   
“It's not their fault,” Mel said quickly. “I forced them into telling me.”  
“Charmed them, you mean,” Gladys corrected. “I expect nothing less from a moron like Wheatley. Leo is a child and still doesn't understand much about the world, but I expected better from Doug,” she went on, mostly huffing to herself now.  
“Please don't be angry with them,” Mel continued. “We're all just worried about Virgil. I need to know that he's alright.”  
“He's a grown man,” Gladys pointed out. “He doesn't need to be checked in on like a child.”  
“Yes, but he's my friend,” Mel countered. “And there's something clearly wrong. Please, Gladys. I just need to see him.”  
“Giving away employee information violates so many codes and rights to privacy,” Gladys pointed out, running her fingers through her hair to try and get out some of the tangles.   
“If Virgil wants to sue someone over it I'll take that responsibility,” Mel stated.   
Gladys considered it for a moment. “Why couldn't you, oh I don't know, use the phone for this, instead of coming here in person?” her words rang out bitterly.  
“You know you wouldn't answer your phone for another three hours,” Mel pointed out. “And I can't wait any longer.”  
“You've waited all week,” Gladys reminded her.  
“And now I can't wait another second,” Mel retorted.   
“Alright, fine,” Gladys huffed, pushing past Mel and entering the hallway, making her way towards the kitchen. Mel followed after her, watching as Gladys dug through a kitchen drawer, pulling out a notepad and pen. After scribbling on the page for a few moments she ripped it off and handed it to Mel.  
“Now if you would be so kind, get out,” Gladys snapped.  
“Thank you, Gladys dear,” Mel thanked, beaming. Normally she would have gone for a hug, but she knew that would be overstepping her boundaries to a point of no return at this hour of the day. Giving her a final wave, as well as one to Chell who sat at the kitchen counter, Mel headed out the door.  
⸺  
By a quarter after ten, Mel stood outside of a tall apartment building, its gray walls looking worse for wear, and its front door opening with a squeak, and no sign of proper locks or security measures in place.   
Taking the stairs, as the elevator was out of order, Mel headed up to the seventh floor, making good time on her well trained legs. It took her a while to find the correct apartment, as there seemed to be little order to the room number placings, but she eventually found it, and hesitating for only a moment to organize her thoughts, she knocked on the door.  
Several moments passed before the door opened, revealing a very startled Virgil.  
“Mel? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice raising to that abnormally high pitch it goes to by default when exasperated. He quickly looked around, not waiting for her to answer before impatiently ushering her inside.  
“It's good to see you too,” Mel said, a bit sarcastically, not appreciating being shoved into his home which, despite the rest of the building, was actually kept very clean and orderly.  
“What are you doing here?” Virgil asked again, more pointedly this time. “How did you even find out where I live?”  
“Gladys told me,” Mel answered innocently.  
“Gladys told you?” Virgil repeated. “Willingly?”  
“Well, she took a bit of coaxing, but eventually she came around,” Mel responded, smiling proudly to herself at her accomplishment.   
“You're shady, you know that right?” Virgil pointed out, crossing his arms.  
“Says the one who disappears off the face of the earth for a week with no explanation,” Mel shot back.  
“I have an explanation!” Virgil argued.  
“Then what it is?” Mel asked.  
“Vacation time,” Virgil explained.  
“You don't take vacation time. Ever. You're not even on vacation, you're in your home. That's not vacation,” Mel pointed out.  
“You don't know my life,” Virgil countered. “Maybe I like vacations at home.”  
“Virgil, you live in a dump,” Mel said, her voice softer now so as to ease the blow. “No offense, but this isn't a prime vacation spot. What are you trying to hide?”  
“I'm not hiding anything,” Virgil told her, his voice becoming stiff.  
“I can tell when you're lying you know,” Mel reminded him. “Look, everyone's worried about you. Some of the others at the shop told me you had a run in with some shady people last week? Virgil, what's going on?”  
“It's nothing you need to worry about,” Virgil said quietly.  
“I'm your friend, of course I'm going to worry about it!” Mel said exasperatedly. “Are you in some sort of trouble or what?”  
“I'm not in trouble,” Virgil assured her.  
“Then what is going on?” Mel asked again.  
Virgil sighed. “Mel, you're my best friend. If something was seriously wrong, I would tell you. There are certain . . . things I've done in the past that weren't the best decisions I've made. I'm handling it.”  
“By running away?” Mel questioned.  
“By trying to square things away without getting the shop involved,” Virgil corrected, rather impatiently.  
“What the hell did you get yourself into that you can't even tell me?” Mel asked, not stepping down for a moment. “I'm not leaving until you give me some answers. Now.”  
Virgil paused, as if he were trying to think something over. “Mel, sit down for a minute,” he eventually said, walking with her over to the couch. They sat down, Virgil turning to face her and taking another moment to gather his thoughts.  
“I'm not in any trouble, do you understand?” he asked.  
“No, I don't understand,” Mel told him. “I don't understand at all.”  
“Look, when I was younger,” Virgil began. “I got involved in some . . . bad things. Eventually I got out of it, and I owe that to Gladys. But lately . . . things have been stirred up again. I'm clean of it all, I swear, but I just need to take some time away to make sure these things don't come up again. Does that make sense?”  
Mel shook her head. “I still don't understand. What bad things? And why does Gladys know about all of this? What did she do?”  
“She helped me, that's all that matters,” Virgil explained. “I was with the wrong crowd and Gladys got me out of it. Lately they've been hanging around too close to the shop, so I've been trying to work with them to step off a bit. It's just taking time.”  
“But what bad things?” Mel repeated, insistent.  
“Bad things I can't talk about,” Virgil answered, trying to be patient. “If I could tell you, I would. But I can't.”  
“Why not?” Mel asked, sounding more than a little offended.  
“I just can't, alright?” Virgil snapped, more impatiently than he meant.  
Mel didn't respond, instead looking away, a frustrated huff escaping her. Virgil was her best friend, and yet here he sat, telling her there were things he didn't even trust her to know, yet somehow Gladys did. What wasn't he telling her? What was so bad he didn't want her to know? Why couldn't he just trust her?  
“I'm sorry, Mel,” Virgil said quietly. “I really am.”  
“We used to not keep secrets from each other,” Mel told him, feeling more upset than angry now.  
“I know,” Virgil said. “And if I can get this all cleared maybe I'll be able to tell you more. But right now, it just isn't a good idea. Can you trust me, please?”  
“I do trust you,” Mel told him. “I just wished you could trust me.”  
“Of course I trust you, Mel,” Virgil responded quickly. Just give me another week. Can you wait that long?”  
Mel didn't respond immediately, instead thinking over in her head all of what Virgil had said so far, trying to understand what it could mean, but coming up with no reliable guesses.  
“A week,” Mel said. “Then I want some answers.”  
Virgil smiled. “You have a deal, Mel. Now, how about some breakfast?”  
⸺  
A suggestion of breakfast turned into lunch as well, followed by Mel dragging Virgil out of his home to go shopping with her, only for them to spend so much time they both decided to get dinner together and go back to Mel's home to watch a movie. Aside from that morning, it had almost felt like a normal Sunday for them. They hadn't spent quality time like this together in so long, Mel couldn't help but feel elated, her earlier anger already forgotten. It had been a long time since Mel had seen Virgil so carefree, and she couldn't help but wonder if it were actually an act to try and ease her worries towards him. Whatever it was, Mel was grateful for the day, the first time in a long time she felt she truly had her old friend back.   
However, it didn't take long for that peaceful feeling to be shattered. Halfway through the movie, Virgil's phone began to ring. Normally he would have just turned it off, but one look was all it took to know it needed to be answered.  
It was from Gladys.  
“Hello?” Virgil said into the receiver, pausing the movie. “What? Calm down a minute, say that again. The shop?” he paused, a look of concern quickly changing to one of horror, and then to anger. “I'll be right there.” He hung up the phone, and immediately got up, grabbing his bag.  
“What's going on?” Mel asked, getting up as well, her heart nearly stopping at the expression on Virgil's face.  
“It's the shop,” Virgil answered quickly. “There's no time to explain, just come on!”  
Without a moment's hesitation, Mel followed Virgil out the door and onto the street below.


End file.
